By Blood Connected
by Vir M
Summary: VergilxOC. "Who the hell is this guy, and why does he insist on giving me so many detentions?" Contains a slowly paced romance and a realistic plot line. Final chapter! "Thanks" go out to all of the readers who stuck by me until BBC's belated conclusion!
1. Prologue

It began in my junior year of high school.

No, wait, that statement is incorrect. I did not realize it at the time, but in all actuality, the madness that enveloped my life without warning had been brewing for centuries. It would be more accurate to say:

It began almost 2000 years ago.

I pen this narrative a much wiser woman than I once was. As I contemplate my fate, the fate I chose, I ask myself: Would I do it again? The answer, for all the 'wise woman' I believe myself to be, will always be a resounding and foolish 'yes.' The decisions I made, the path I chose, even though they have brought me to this prison, remain dear to me.

After all this time, my memory remains clear. As you read this, friend, know that these thoughts are mine. As I write, I will surrender to the me of the past. I shall speak in the voice of the self I was when I experienced those thoughts, felt those sensations, I shall surrender to the me I was when I made those foolish decisions. I will fluctuate between the mind of a young woman, the mind of a child, and that of what I have become. As you read, know this: I do not write this for any of you, but for myself.

And for him.


	2. Chapter 1: Beginning

By Blood Connected

A Fanfiction by VirM.

Chapter 1:

"Beginning"

I woke up that morning feeling good. Not just good; in fact, I felt better than I ever had, God knows why. There was no plausible reason for me feeling that alive that morning, but nonetheless I felt wonderful. That receptive joyfulness hit me like a train when I woke, though if getting plowed down by a freight engine really DID feel that good, I would've done it long before then. Everything felt new that morning; it was as if I had never once drawn air into my lungs, never once woke up to the start of my junior year—

Oh yeah, right, that. THAT thought sure brought me back to earth. My good mood evaporated as I trudged down the stairs from my room, flicking on lights as I went.

The kitchen was like it always was– pale pink tile, blush colored wallpaper bespattered in crimson rosebuds, humming appliances, and immaculately clean counters. I glanced out the window mounted above the kitchen table as I passed on my way to grab a bag of pop tarts.

"It'll rain later..." I said to no one in particular, surveying the angry looking sky through sleep-clouded eyes. As I waited for the pastries to finish toasting, I stumbled blearily into laundry room which had been recently serving me as a closet.

"Ah, yes," I mused, rubbing the grogginess from my eyes as I surveyed my options of dress. "So... the black skirt... or... the_ black_ skirt?"

I chuckled at the joke, however lame it was. I'd always been a sucker for corny jokes, and had an annoying tendency to laugh at them even when I was the one making them. Sighing, I put on my uniform starting at the top, as was my habit: black cotton blouse, red tie, black pleated skirt (hemmed short, as I preferred) black knee-socks, and a pair of low top-converse. Shoes were the one item of dress that was not school-regulated, and I was not one to miss out: I had airbrushed flames onto the white toes for a bit of flair.

I heard the toaster pop in the kitchen. I retrieved the pastries, slipped the hot confections on a plate and poured a glass of milk. I ate quickly. When I finished, I left the plate and glass in the sink and took the stairs two at a time up to my room.

My room was quite different from the kitchen downstairs. It had one red wall and one black, and the rest were white. The fact that two of them were colored hardly mattered, however, seeing as how almost every square inch of them was covered in some form or another by posters. There was an empty closet and an adjoining bath, which I promptly entered. It had a color scheme that matched my room, though without the posters.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment before pulling my nondescript brown hair up into a high ponytail. I had bangs which fell lightly over my forehead, nearly obscuring my eyes. I brushed them out of the way impatiently. The afore-mentioned eyes (which were badly in need of eyeliner) were a bright amber-green that clashed horribly with my uniform. I hated putting liner on them, however: they were set at a hard to work with an almost-Asian downward slant. My skin, however, shook off all thoughts of me being of Eastern-descent: it was very pale, made more so by the black in my clothing, and was slightly translucent.

I applied the eyeliner then brushed my teeth. Morning routine complete, I walked out of the bathroom and then out of my room itself, picking up my book bag as I went. I flitted down the stairs and walked back into the laundry room off the kitchen. My school-issue jacket, black, as always seemed to be the case, was hanging on a peg by the back door (located in the laundry room), and I shrugged it on before stepping outside into the brisk September day.

I rummaged in my bag until I found the house key, at the same time double checking for my (thankfully present) umbrella, and locked the door behind me. I slipped the key back into my satchel, then reached up and made sure the spare was securely fixed to the door jamb with a piece of tape. It was there, as always. Satisfied, I walked down the side of the house, a little brick two-story with a few shrubs and a massive oak tree in the yard, until I hit the street. I turned a hard right, setting off for school.

The normally half-hour walk only took about a quarter; I double timed to make sure I wouldn't be late in the event of any unforeseen obstacles or detours. I arrived at the ivy-hung school gates at 8:10, nearly fifty minutes before the first class started. I pushed open the gates with a hand and stepped onto the school grounds.

The J. L. Tyler Academy (or, as the locals and students simply put it, "Tyler's") was a prestigious boarding school for the rich, influential, or genius. Acting a military academy for boys and a college preparatory school for girls, the place had a reputation up there with some of the finest ivy-league colleges, and tended to produce America's generational crop of surgeons, lawyers, CEOs, and congressman. Three presidents had attended Tyler's in the past, only adding to its prestige. Its fencing program was one of the best in the country; they had taken home nationals almost 20 years running. The school itself was nearing its hundredth birthday, not that any of the students cared.

The buildings themselves were imposing at best: stone, cold, forbidding, ivy hung in secretive folds on all the walls, creating a think tapestry over many of the school's structures. The grounds consisted of spacious, manicured lawns, fringed on the outside by a high brick wall that were also hung with the ever-present ivy. There were two gates set into the wall: the student gate and the faculty gate, located on opposite sides of the compound.

Students could either live "in town" with family, or locate themselves in the dorms on-campus. I, personally, had family who lived in the village during the summer, an aunt and uncle (beneficiaries of the school, as well as my ticket to attending as I was neither brilliant, affluent, or a prominent social figure) who were willing to allow me a room of my own and free reign over the house during their seasonal absence, as long as I didn't put holes in the wall and kept it clean.

But back to the school. The inside, in stark contrast to the outside, was lovely. It sported rich, glowing wood floors and walls, hundreds of classrooms, and a library twice the size of my house. It was to there I wandered as I waited for the assembly where I would receive my class schedule.

The library was an integral part of me. I'd always loved books—fairy tales in particular—but my true love was history. In all honesty, my love of the past had stemmed from a fairy tale. I had been reading_ The Knights of the Roundtable,_ enthralled with Arthur's quest for the Grail, the magicians, the dragons, and had cried at the book's end. Seeking more of Arthur and his gallant company, I had turned to a history book.

And I'd never turned back.

I poked my head in the double doors, and finding the library's familiar, high-windowed foyer empty, entered and shut the door quietly behind me. I practically skipped towards the front desk, located about twenty feet inside, and slid to a stop on the marble floor as I reached it. I lifted a hand and picked up a small velvet-tipped mallet laying next to an ornamental gong set on the mahogany surface, and rang the tiny thing. Its light, singing peal echoed up into the Library's rafters, and reverberated throughout the hall, disturbing the utter quiet. I turned around, propped my elbows up on the desk behind me, crossed my legs at the ankle, and faced the smaller set of double doors set to my left. They burst open as I watched.

"Jira!"

I winced, hating the sound of my odd-ball name, but glad to finally hear a familiar voice. The woman who swept forth from behind those doors was the utter personification of the word 'librarian.' Tall and imposing, she had hawk-like features and a long, skinny figure, giving her the appearance of a bird of prey who got caught in a taffy-puller, though she was bony rather than putty-like. Her voice, however, was a warm soprano that was set completely at odds with her image. She had a full head of silvered hair, pulled back in a tight bun, and was dressed in a simple black dress; long-sleeved and conservative. Her eyes were slate colored and clear. Her face was wrinkled; she looked to be sixty, or there-abouts.

"Jira!" the woman repeated, spreading her arms wide for a hug as she strode over to me. "I missed you over the summer! We just got in a new history anthology from Harvard last Tuesday that I _know_ you'll simply_ love_!"

The woman, though waspish in appearance, was quite kind. She and I had been friends ever since my freshman year when I, the insatiable book-worm, had spent most of my waking moments in the library and her company, which was surprisingly pleasant.

"It's good to see you, too, Ms. Saxen," I said warmly as I accepted her embrace. "Care to show me that anthology?"

Her face darkened slightly at this.

"Well, Jira, I haven't unpacked all the boxes yet... You see, I had been hoping you'd help me sort and shelve them after school today—I need all the help I can get right now, I'm so busy!—but only if you're not assigned too much homework, of course." Her face was set sternly at this last remark, but the shine in her eyes and the excitement coloring her voice betrayed her true wishes.

"I'd love to," I said, unable to keep from grinning. Her moods were infectious.

"Are you staying for very long? I have some new books to catalogue, but_ you_ have awhile until the assembly."

Every new school year, the students were to meet in the assembly hall, or the auditorium as it was more commonly called, in order to hear the start-of-term speeches and be issued agendas and lockers. It usually took about an hour and a half, more if there were any other major announcements to be made.

I looked up at Saxen; she was quite tall, possibly six feet, dwarfing my 5' 4 by a long shot. I smiled and said: "I think I'll putter around the classics for a bit, then head out. I'll be so quiet you won't know I'm here, so go ahead and get 'em done, 'kay?"

Saxen, by way of response, smiled, said an "if you're sure" or two, then swooped off to finish her work before the library became flooded with the day's students.

I turned and began to meander through the books, running my fingers down their spines as I passed. I was there mainly to center myself in familiar surroundings before facing the day, rather than find new reading material. I took comfort from their familiar covers and musty smells as I paced the deserted rows.

When I had wandered my fill, I left, book bag across my shoulders, and glanced at my watch; fifteen minutes until assembly. I turned and began to walk down the hall, passing a student every now and again. I was about halfway to the auditorium when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, Out-take!"

'Out-take' was a little nickname I had earned filming, well, out-takes for the yearbook committee's year-end video celebrating the school's achievements. I turned to my caller, raising a hand to wave.

The one who called me was a girl in my year named Sarita Moore. She was a casual acquaintance I didn't particularly care for (we'd been on the year-book team together, hence her use of the nick-name), but was a good person to have a distracting, frivolous conversation with. Standing at a scant five feet that made me feel inordinately tall, she sported black hair and eyes and lustrous olive skin. She had lost weight over the summer, I was pleased to note; she was now voluptuous as opposed to chubby.

"You look great," I said as she jogged to catch up with me. Her dark eyes flashed a thank you as she cracked a comment about how pale I was. I retorted with a jab at her height.

Our mild-mannered banter continued into the main hall. The auditorium was filling up—about half of the five hundred-odd students had arrived. We took a seat in the fifth row or so, still chatting. The stage at the front of the room was occupied by a podium and twelve chairs, one for each department head. The red curtains were pulled back to either side of the stage area, secured in place by a gold tassel.

We were eventually joined by several other mutual classmates. Promptly at nine o'clock, the lights dimmed, signaling the beginning of the assembly.

Principal Clark was the first to come on-stage. He was a tall, slightly over weight man with a tawny walrus mustache, shiningly bald cranium, and basset-hound eyes. He was—to those who knew him and managed to stay on his good side—strict, meticulously clean, and had a tendency to good-naturedly bellow at those he liked. To those who managed to piss him off, however, he was nothing but severe, quick to punish, and unsympathetic. The buzzing auditorium fell into silence as he cleared his throat into the microphone.

"Class, welcome to a new school year. It brings me great pleasure to announce..." His booming baritone echoed through the room, and, since the speech was more or less repeated every year and I had already heard it twice, I tuned him out. This little skill of mine was nearing perfection; images didn't even manage to register anymore. I thought of nothing at all as he announced the department heads and let them take their seats on stage, didn't take in a single word. I only awoke from my self-induced stupor when the students rose and applauded, then began shuffling out of the auditorium to go to their grade-level offices to receive their schedules.

I had gotten about three steps away from my seat when I heard her voice calling me. I grinned, turned around, and was immediately thrown to the ground by the force of the bear hug I had been wrestled into. I fell on my back with a loud THWUMP, only narrowly missing a crowd of senior boys. Winded, I sat up, attempting to catch my breath and extract myself from my dearest friend's embrace.

Ami Ross and I had been friends since freshman year. We met in the library over a set of history books, and were instantly inseparable. Her love of books and friendly nature, as opposed to my hot-headed and aggressive one, contrasted nicely. We each covered each other's faults and brought out each other's better qualities; a dream team. While she was timid, I was assertive; while she was sensitive, I was blunt. She was a tall, slim girl with long blonde hair and brown eyes, and a killer figure to boot (though she didn't seem to notice, or much care). She was also clam-shy, but when she DID like something, she let it show, usually in the form of a massive 'tackle-glomp' and shining eyes.

"I missed you, Jira!" Her eyes practically danced, showing off their rich, warm brown.

I stood and helped her to her feet, my grin widening. She grabbed my hand and began to tug me down the aisle at a run, dodging clumps of milling students and chattering a mile-a-minute.

"_Oh Jira I-went-to-France-and-met-this-boy--youwouldreallylikehim—and-now-we-write-to-each-other-but-anyway-do-you-know-where-we-get-our-schedules-because-I-was-late-to-the-assembly-and-didn't-hear...oh-right-you-tuned-it-out-didn't-you-you-need-to_

_stop-doing-that-its-going-to-get-you-in-trouble-one-of-these-days-but-anyway-we-should-ask-a-teacher-or-someone-about-it—" _

"AMI – SLOWDOWN WE'RE GOING TO RUN OVER SOME ONE!" I yelled, digging my heels into the carpet. She stopped right then and there, and as a result I crashed into her from behind; luckily, we were able to keep our balance. She turned to me, blushing.

"I'm sorry, Jira," she said. "I was just excited to see you..." She drifted off, looking at the floor, but was still grinning. I sighed. This was old hat by now.

"C'mon," I said pulling her towards the doors. "Let's go ask a teacher where we go."

* * *

AUTHOR TIME Updated 5-25-08

Hey, guys. Vir M. here. Basically, I'm going through and slowly editing all of the old chapters of BBC, so if you guys ever decided to re-read it you will have less typos and errors to sort through. However, it should be noted that I'm not editing the actual writing so much as I'm editing the punctuation, grammar, etc. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer. Have fun reading the edited chapters!

DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM

JIRA & BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIR M.


	3. Chapter 2: First Day

By Blood Connected

A fan fiction by Vir M.

Chapter 2:

"The First Day"

J. L. Tyler's average school day ran from nine o'clock in the morning to four o'clock in the afternoon. The schedule was a blocked one: four of your chosen classes one day, then the other four the next. Each class ran for one hour, with a fifteen-minute break between each class to allow students to traverse the sprawling grounds with ample time to reach their destinations. Lunch ran for one hour between second and third period, and there was a mandatory study hall for another hour immediately after it. Study hall could be taken anywhere, be it the library, in a classroom, or outside on the grounds, weather permitting.

Today, however, as the first day of the new term, was different. We were to go to all eight of our classes (though we still had an hour for lunch), and find our way to the next class in the fifteen minutes allotted us. There would be no study hall, seeing as how its location depended on the student's current preference, and each class ran for only half an hour. The freshmen usually needed twenty or so minutes to locate their classes the first day, and were often late. The upperclassmen—myself included—didn't even have to consult the map of the school issued to us.

I surveyed my schedule as Ami and I walked down the hallway leading away from the junior office. My 'A' block was identical to hers: French III, Computer Sciences, Calculus, and Language Arts. Our 'B' blocks, however, only had three classes out of four: I had Musical Theater, Physics, History, And P.E., while she had Biology III during my Physics period. The classes were in the same wing, though, so we wouldn't have to go it alone for _too_ long.

As we ambled towards French, I scanned the list of teachers I had landed. I recognized them all, having been in a lower level course of theirs in the years previous. One name, however, I did not recognize.

_Who in the world is 'V. Aeneid?' _I thought to myself. New teachers were few and far between; experience in the subject they had to teach was more than required—_years_ of it was expected. I was about to point out the new addition to the faculty to Ami when she spoke up:

"There's a new teacher this year," she remarked. "That's weird. I wonder what he's like."

"Whoever said it was a man?" I asked. "It could very well be a woman."

"Oh..." She grinned sheepishly. "I forgot who I was talking to."

The majority of history teachers in the school were male, and it made me angry when they made remarks about how surprising it was for a girl to be interested in the subject. Ami had been the recipient of my long-winded rants about the unfair history prejudice for years now; she was quite used to it.

'_Bout time they got a woman, _I thought, grinding my teeth. _Sexist pigs._

We had reached French by then. The class was taught by the woman we had last term: Madame Faust. Despite having a German surname, she was a French native who had lived in the states only for the last ten years or so, teaching and earning her English degree. She was an average-sized woman with a head of thick black hair, pleated into a long braid she wore hanging down her back. She wore the standard teachers dress: a black blouse and long black skirt with matching black heels. She was a fun-loving younger woman who wore copious amounts of eyeliner and loved to joke with her students, and was—unsurprisingly—my favorite professor.

French passed quickly; the rules were reiterated on us for the third time, and though the teachers here had no qualms about assigning us heavy homework on our first day, Madame Faust did not.

"I always knew I liked her," I mused to Ami. "She's probably the only one who won't assign us a huge-ass paper or sumthin'..."

"We need to work on our grammar," Ami said contentedly. She was forever getting on to me about my increasingly frequent slang usage. "You know very well that the word 'sumthin'' does not exist in the English language."

Computer science was a pleasant surprise: no homework as well. In calculus, however, we were not so lucky. Ms. Shorla, our bat-like teacher, was not nearly as cool as Faust.

"Seventy-five problems!" I moaned. "I _hate_ trig ratios!"

"They're not so bad," replied Ami.

"You only say that because you understand them," I said disdainfully. "I, on the other hand, am a dedicated slacker. These things—" (I made an exaggerated motion of tossing the worksheet away in disgust) "—mean little to me." Ami only giggled, knowing full well I'd come crying to her for help tomorrow morning.

Language and theater passed uneventfully; we were to read a work by Shakespeare in English, and bring a monologue we'd like to work on for drama.

We had to split up for sixth period, and class was not nearly so much fun as it had been without Ami there to screw around with. Thankfully, no homework was assigned in my class, though Ami's book bag had been significantly heaved by the addition of another text book.

Lunch had rolled around, and we scurried off to find friends. We met up with Sarita in the halls, and blended in with her and her year-book-committee crowd.

We decided to eat outside on the grass. The day was crisp, the air clear and chill, with the tang of dropped leaves perfuming the day. The fall season had brought leaves raining down upon us; scarlet and gold drops of foliage crunched satisfyingly underfoot and created a nice, comfortable carpet on the lush grass that had not yet browned with the season.

Conversation consisted of summer-stories and gossip, making Ami and me feel out of place. We were the type who didn't find any satisfaction in gossip, but rather more intellectual fare. Eventually the tide shifted to school. Schedules were compared, then teachers discussed:

"You have McLean? You're so lucky; she never gives homework!"

"Yeah, but look who I have for math. She's a _bitch._"

"I've got calculus for B-4, how about you?

It was then I remembered what I had been wondering about all morning.

"Um... guys...?" I began loudly, vying for their attention which had been focused mainly on Sarita and her schedule worries. The seven or so girls all turned and looked at me, waiting. I continued:

"Do any of you have Aeneid for history? Me n' Ami got 'em next; what're they like?"

There was silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of the light breeze tossing dead leaves together quietly. Then one of the year-bookers (I believe her name was Janice) spoke up:

"Is THAT how you pronounce his name?"

Silence shattered, the girls all began to talk at once:

"He's _gorgeous_—"

"He's really strict though—"

"He won't let us call him Ae... Ei... however you say it—he says it's too hard for us to pronounce—"

"Positively_ beautiful _blue eyes—"

I couldn't make out anything useful, so I waved my arms around in an attempt to get their attention. Shy little Ami looked like a deer in the head-lights; she didn't like so much chatter directed at her. Sensing her distress, I scrambled to my feet and barked a loud "HEY!" in their general direction.

The talking stopped. I stood, looking down at the gaggle of girls.

"One at a time, please," I said as quietly as I could. I could be menacing when I wanted to be, and their senseless prattling was grating on my (extremely short set of) nerves.

Janice, again, was the first to speak up: "He asked us to call him 'Redgrave,' rather than Ae—however you say it." She blushed, embarrassed that she wasn't able to say the name properly. "He said that the easier one was his mother's maiden name."

"Okay," I said. "Anything else?"

Another year-booker, Trisha, spoke up: "He's different. Really young, and—"

"GORGEOUS." One of Sarita's more bitchy-looking companions had cut her off. "He's got these dreamy blue eyes and platinum hair all slicked back. Really pale skin, though—he's almost as pale as _you_."

She grinned like a devil as I glared. I didn't like being teased, especially by people I didn't know from jack.

"He's got an Oxford degree." I turned, startled, to the girl who spoke. She had thick glasses, was freckled and stick-skinny, and wore her hair in two short braids, looking oddly out of place with the 'cool' crowd Sarita gathered into her company. She continued: "He's also the new coach for the fencing team. I listened; he was really quite interesting." She blushed, then, and looked away. She had been so quiet I hadn't even noticed her sitting there.

"What's your name?" I asked. Her head snapped up at this, obviously nervous.

"K-Karen. Karen Walker," she stammered. I smiled, trying my best to look reassuring.

"It's nice to meet you, Karen; I'm Jira Lancaster." She seemed nice; an intellectual who was able to look past a handsome face and listen, and seemed like someone whom I could get along with. She was acting sort of scared though, and I wondered why...

"Karen." Ami had at last recovered from her mute state and spoken up. "She won't bite, trust me."

I looked at her. "Bite?" I asked.

She grinned. "You're pretty scary sometimes, Jira." She turned to Karen, forever the mother-figure. "She's harmless, trust me." Karen managed an uncertain smile at this. I was struck with the realization that Karen, for all her freckles and braids, was actually quite pretty.

Then Sarita said: "I've got Ae... _Redgrave_ next, too." She was looking neglected, unused to not being the center of attention. "I hope he's as great as you all say; I'm bored out of my mind."

I was going to say something along the lines of "get a life, he's a teacher" when the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. I stood and helped Ami to her feet, then turned towards the school buildings again. The other girls had classes the opposite way from ours, so we split up: me, Ami, and Sarita one way, Karen and the rest the other. We waved goodbye and began to walk.

The history classes, all upstairs, were set up in classic lecture hall formation: wooden tiers were raised like an over-sized staircase up to the back of the room, and were set with benches and tables for the students to work on. The teacher's desk was set in front of the long black-board on the front wall, ensuring that every student could see the instructor. The room was bare apart from the unoccupied desk and student's seat, which was unusual; most teachers decorated their rooms with posters about their subjects. Here, however, there wasn't as much as a map on a wall.

Nor the presence of a teacher.

* * *

AUTHOR TIME 5-27-08

Edited chapter, yay!

DMC © CAPCOM

BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.


	4. Chapter 3: Teacher

By Blood Connected

A fan fiction by Vir M.

_Chapter 3:_

"Teacher"

The class was eerily quiet as the bell rang.

The teacher's chair remained empty.

For five minutes we sat in utter silence, waiting for _something _to happen. Sarita's friends had seen him earlier, so he was obviously at school somewhere. His _exact_ location was the mystery.

And, being the diligent little students we were, we waited.

Another five or so minutes passed, and I was growing impatient. Leaning back in my chair and propping my feet on the desk in front of me, I remarked on what I thought to be the obvious:

"Well, this SUCKS."

My twenty or so class mates all turned to look at me, and began to murmur amongst themselves. Ami elbowed me in the ribs. I grunted, but otherwise ignored her. I tilted my head back so that I was looking at the ceiling, then closed my eyes.

"Seriously though, guys," I began. "If he doesn't think we're worthy enough to merit punctuality, then I don't see why we should be such precious little angels and sit around waiting for him." My eyes snapped open as I rocked forward in my chair, letting its legs hit the floor with a loud bang, and swung my own legs off of the table. I stood, picking up my book bag.

"I don't know about you," I began again, "but I'm _no_ angel." I walked past Ami, who latched onto my skirt. I turned and looked down at her.

"Need something?" I asked, grinning. She looked up at me pleadingly from her chair.

"Come on, Jira..." her grip on my clothing tightened slightly. "Let's not start this year off with you skipping class, okay?" Her brown eyes were desperate, her ever-present maternal instincts rising up. I grinned again.

"Look," I said. "I'm just gonna pop on over to the department head's office and report a missing teacher is all." I winked at her. "You'll pass that message along to Aeneid when he finally decides to show his face, okay?" She sighed, looking defeated, and muttered an affirmative. Chuckling, I descended the steps to the lowest level of the class room. I strode over to the door, grabbed the doorknob in one hand, and wrenched the thing open–

—only to find myself staring into the bluest pair of eyes I have ever seen.

The man was tall; very tall. I had always thought Ms. Saxen to be on the higher side of the fence, but even SHE would have been dwarfed by this man. And his impression of size wasn't just due to his height. He was broad-shouldered and muscular; I could tell even through the black, teacher-edition school jacket.

But however impressive in height he was, it was nothing compared to the heart-stopping features of his face.

He had high, sharp cheekbones that could have ground female hearts into dust, a straight, aristocratic nose, and slightly hollowed cheeks which only added to the intrigue of his features. His eyes were, as I have said, a brilliant, electric, ice-chip blue, set slightly back into his face, giving them a shadowed, mysterious look. His hair was a bright white, the term 'platinum' doing nothing to justice it, and he wore it swept back out of his eyes, exposing his pale, perfect forehead. Just as Sarita's friend had said earlier, he_ was_ indeed pale.

Yet, however fair his complexion, the cool marble of his skin couldn't match the icy look in his eyes.

He stared down at me coldly for what seemed like an eternity. With a jolt, I realized that the entire class was sitting in shocked silence. Then he spoke.

"Take your seat."

He promptly pushed past me, somehow managing to gently shoulder me out of his way without making contact. His walk was smooth and predatory, like a feral cat's, and his eyes darted over the classroom like a hunter's, missing nothing. Those captivating eyes flashed to me again when he reached his desk, and I jumped as he addressed me a second time:

"I believe I told you to take your seat, miss."

His voice was deep, and resonated as he spoke. It had a slight nasal quality that was not unpleasant, only intelligent-sounding, but there was a sharp edge to it that set my teeth grating.

Realizing I had been standing there gaping like a fish, I spun on my heel and marched back up the stairs to my seat next to Ami and Sarita, trying to look dignified and undoubtedly failing miserably. I sat myself down into the chair heavily, as if I had been longing to sit right there all day, crossed my legs, and began to stare straight ahead blankly, hoping he'd ignore me.

Inside, my heart was pounding. _He IS gorgeous, _I thought. _I mean, they said so n' all, but I was completely unprepared for THIS_. My eyes, completely ignoring my desire to continue staring blankly, shifted to look at him. One thing was becoming apparent though, despite my admiration of his looks:

I definitely didn't like this guy.

He turned to us again, his eyes once again sweeping over the room. He gestured at the blackboard.

"You will address me," he began, "as Mr. Redgrave." His face remained blank. "My real surname is written on the board." He had penned the letters 'A-E-N-E-I-D' on its surface in a sharp, liquid script. "But, given that the majority of students here are so uneducated that they would be unable to pronounce even the first syllable correctly—" his face remained unfettered by emotion despite the offense "—I will be forced to use my mother's maiden name during class." He continued on as if he hadn't insulted us. "When filling out forms requiring my name, however, you will use my formal one." He then walked back to his desk and set himself down on its edge, facing us.

"I believe a roll call is in order," he said softly. His voice cut through the silence like a knife despite its low volume. He promptly produced a sheet of paper from nowhere and called the first name. "Abbot?"

When no one answered, he sighed wearily and repeated it more loudly, this time adding the owner's given name as well as their last. "Charlie Abbot?"

The boy in question squeaked out a frightened "here." Redgrave scowled.

"Please raise your hand when you announce yourself. I need a face."

"No he doesn't!" whispered Sarita suddenly, making me jump. I looked at her quizzically.

"His own is fine enough!" she intoned vehemently. "He's so ho-"

"Is there a problem, miss?"

I snapped my face back to our instructor, who was regarding us coolly.

"There will be no talking," he said, voice laced with chill. Sarita replied with a weak 'yes, sir,' while I opted for saying nothing at all. He turned back to his list and continued to call names.

"Higgins?"

"Here."

"Holding?"

"Here, sir."

"Jenkins?"

"H...here..."

I mentally braced myself; I was coming up soon.

"Lancaster, Jira?"

I didn't say a word, simply raised my hand until it was level with my ear. His head was bowed, staring at the sheet, waiting for me to identify myself, and when—after a moment—I had still not said anything, he raised his eyes.

Our gazes locked. _So we're gonna have a starin' contest, buddy, izzat right?_ I thought. _Well, two can play at that. _Without breaking my gaze away from those cool eyes, I nodded. He stared back, unblinking.

"Jira... that's an unusual name." This caught me by surprise; I hadn't been expecting that casual of a remark. "Is it African?" he asked.

I nodded.

He stared. "What does it mean?"

This COMPLETELY threw me. Usually no one seemed to care about its meaning, or if they did, they didn't usually inquire right away like this.

"It means "tied by blood," or "related by blood," depending on the translation," I finally revealed.

Something flickered across his face. For a strange moment, he seemed confused, and then elated—but then it was gone, replaced by that cold, empty look. I nearly did a double take—what had_ that _been about?—but then he spoke again, interrupting my train of thought:

"And how did your parents come to choose it, I wonder?" His face was impassive, yet interested.

"They were missionaries," I said quietly. "I was born in the village they were witnessing to, and as a gesture of love, they named me as a daughter of the tribe." I inclined my head. "I have no African blood though; I'm Czech and German."

Aeneid sat there, still. Then: "Interesting." He turned back to his list.

The rest of roll-call breezed by, but I was still preoccupied by the emotions I had seen flickering in his eyes. I had just written it off to a trick of the light when he stood, and regarded the class with that cold gaze.

"You are," he said, "as my students, my responsibility. Those of you who choose to slack off reflect badly on yourselves, and above all—" His blank eyes grew fierce, flaring with jagged flames, "above all, you disgrace _me._" He began to sneer, emotion finally breaking through the dead mask. "If you are looking for an easy course, get out, now." The students looked around at each other unsure of how to take this. "I am not nearly as forgiving as your other teachers."

"Furthermore, there will be no gum chewing during class, no note passing, no working on other class' assignments, and above all: no TALKING." He looked pointedly at Sarita at the last remark.

"There will also be—" he began, but before he could finish, he was interrupted by the opening of the door. Principal Clark poked his gleaming, be-walrused head in, grinned as he saw Redgrave, and stepped fully inside.

"Vergil, m'boy!" He boomed cheerfully. "Would you come help me move that blasted table next door? It must way two-hundred..."

The rest of his request didn't register. The only thing I could think of was what he'd called "Redgrave."

_Vergil, _I thought. _The 'V' stood for VERGIL. _The historical connection between his sur and given names suddenly clicked. _The name of the poet who wrote the 'Aeneid_,' _his name was Vergil!_ _This guy, his real surname's Aeneid, and his first is VERGIL!?_ _Vergil Aeneid? Were his parents literary NUTS to name their kid THAT? _

For some reason, the whole thing struck my historian side of me as funny—outrageously so. I began to chuckle under my breath, then shake with the effort of penning it inside. Finally, I couldn't hold it in any longer: I began to laugh, great peals of sound that echoed throughout room. Through tear-seeping eyes I saw the object of my mirth look at me, saw Principal Clark staring open-mouthed, saw the classmates gawking at me quizzically, and finally saw the horrified look on Ami's face. I pillowed my head in my arms, unable to stop.

_Vergil Aeneid. _

_Vergil AENEID!_

"Something funny?"

I looked up. Aeneid—Redgrave, whatever his name was—was regarding me coolly. I caught my hiccupping breath, then choked out: "BITCH of a name, Aeneid. Bet your parents sure did LOVE fine literature." I pronounced his name correctly, 'ih-NEE-ihd,' and began to laugh again.

"I believe a set of disciplinary sessions are in order, Miss Jira—"

My laughter stopped instantly as I snapped up my head to look at him, eyes wide. His stare was icy.

"—for insolence on your part, and for foul language not befitting a young lady. Starting tomorrow after school, my office."

There were two types of punishments that could be issued by teachers: disciplinary sessions and detentions. Detentions were the same as in all the American schools: the teacher chose the length of time you'd serve, be it ten minutes or two hours, and you sat in a small room with nothing to do but stare at the desk in front of you. They were held every Sunday in the library, and you were to simply sit and do nothing.

"Disciplinary sessions," however, were quite different. They were the most severe form of punishment a student could earn short of expulsion (suspensions were not present at Tyler's due to the fact that most of the student's lived on campus and would wreak havoc if left alone in their dorms all day). You were to meet with the teacher who issued the sessions for two hours every day after school for two weeks, including Saturdays (which were held at nine in the morning) and Sundays (held from six PM. to eight P.M. in respect towards morning-held religious services). You did as you were told: file papers, sit in silence, grade tests, etc.—basically whatever the teacher thought would be the best punishment.

They were normally given to only the most disruptive of students, and almost were never given on the first day, yet here I was, landing one with the teacher I was beginning to hate the most.

I blinked at him. He stared back.

"You heard me," he said clearly. Then he turned and stalked out the door, the principal following after.

As if on cue, the bell rang.

"You idiot!" Ami hissed at me as we rose. "Landing yourself a D.S. the first day! I thought we agreed that we were going to be a little more—"

Sarita, on the other hand, was praising me.

"Twenty-eight hours with the hottest man I've ever seen! You lucky dog! Maybe I should talk during class or chew gum or—"

I ignored them and stomped out of the room, cheeks burning. Ami's condescending prattle continued throughout the day, as did Sarita's "lucky you" remarks. I was on the verge of pulling my hair out by the time school was released. Ami walked me to the gate before heading back to the dorms, only stopping her scolds to say a curt, disapproving goodbye.

I mean, I loved Ami and all, but when she got like this my life turned into a virtual hell. Plus, with the new addition of "The Teacher from Hades," my life was going to be fire and brimstone anyway.

As I trudged home through the gorgeous afternoon, I resolved to be as difficult as possible during my sessions with Aeneid (which I was now resolved to call him, punishments notwithstanding). I mean, I could understand why he was mad because of my usage of the word 'bitch,' but he didn't have to give me a set of sessions for it! Most teachers would have given me a half-hour detention, at the very most.

_He just felt he needed someone to pick on, _I decided. _And I just happened to be the most out-spoken of the class, so... I'll just have to be good_.

My step lightened from its pounding pace to a less angry one as my mood brightened.

_I'll still call him 'Aeneid' though_, thought my grinning devilish side. _I can't get in_ too _much trouble for that..._

I had reached home more quickly than usual due to my frantic pace. Stopping to grab the paper off the lawn, I fished for my key, then let myself inside.

_Home again, home again,_ I thought bitterly. I called into the dark interior "I'm home!", and was not surprised to be greeted with silence.

I went upstairs and showered, letting the hot water soothe the tension in my muscles. I toweled dry and put on my pajamas, then headed downstairs for dinner (a.k.a: leftover take-out).

I spread the newspaper out before me as I munched. I'd always enjoyed reading the paper; it was like a history update delivered daily to your door. It had the tendency to depress me though, so I didn't read it before school; it would ruin my day.

I paused, spaghetti noodles hanging from my lips, as I read the headline of _The Post_, our small-town paper. It read:

"MAIMED BODY OF YOUNG GIRL FOUND IN CANARY"

Canary was a town a bit bigger than ours located about seventy-five miles away, close enough to share major news, but far enough away to be reported on as if it were a foreign country. It, just like my home, was a town whose largest local news story was usually something along the lines of "CAT CAUGHT IN TREE" or the like. In other words, this was HUGE for local news.

I skimmed the article: a girl was found cut cleanly in half, skull crushed, on the outskirts of town, right outside a small, burned down church (an arson case, the paper said). The strangest part: a number of unidentified scale-like objects and feathers were found around the crime-scene. The paper reported that is was an intentional burn and kill, though the cause of the fire itself was still unknown.

I flipped away from that and read an article about the war on terror to pass the time, then put my dishes in the sink along with the older ones from breakfast. I washed them and put them back on their appropriate shelves, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and headed up to my room to do homework.

* * *

AUTHOR TIME

Edited 5/27/08.

Okay okay okay , before I get any crazy fan-girl reviews, lets get one thing straight: NO, THIS IS NOT GOING TO BE A TEACHER-STUDENT AFFAIR! There's going to be romance, but it won't be for a while, and by the time we get there, she won't be in school... that's not to say she'll have graduated though. What do I mean by that? Well, you'll just have to read to find out wink. OH the plot twists I have in store... the SUSPENSE!!

DMC & Vergil—Capcom

Jira and Co.— Vir M.


	5. Chapter 4: Session

By Blood Connected

A Fanfiction by Vir M.

Chapter 4:

"Session"

As I walked up the stairs towards Aeneid's second floor office, I thought back on the day.

I had dreaded the session. Dreaded the very thought. Before packing off for school that morning(luckily, it was A block today, so I didn't have class with him), I had willed the day to crawl along, hoping to postpone the inevitable.

And, since I had wished it to slow down, it naturally sped up.

So now here I was, trudging up the stairs to my doom, loathing every step. I entered the upper hall and began to walk, looking for the right door. I got to the far end of the wood-paneled wall; the door was on my left. It had a gold, engraved plate that read:

V.R. Aeneid

Office

History Department Deputy Head, Fencing Instructor

I placed my hand on the door, steeled myself, and stepped inside.

The place was a complete and utter foil to his classroom. Where the teaching area had been bare, his office was luxurious. There walls were cherry oak, rich and glowing, and the floor was covered by a lush crimson carpet. The walls were lined with tall bookcases, all but one were completely filled, and tasteful paintings of scenes of history were hung at regular intervals between the shelves. There was a fireplace, empty, on the right wall, and a long sword of eastern design was mounted above it, unsheathed and shining. An ornate, strange looking horned helmet that appeared to be a piece of armor was lying on display on the mantel beneath it. A small table was set next to the door, and a glowing lamp had been placed on it, casting warm light over the room. Several more were lit on a huge mahogany desk in the back of the room. The place exuded coziness and warmth; it made me sleepy just to look at it. I could imagine it in the dead of winter: fire crackling in the hearth, me curled up in one of the comfy looking chairs scattered about, book in hand...

I made myself stop thinking about it before I got too comfortable; this was supposed to be a punishment, after all.

"You're here. Good."

I jumped as the voice addressed me. Aeneid had stepped out of a door I hadn't noticed on the left wall; it had been shoved between two bookcases, and I presumed it to lead to his sleeping quarters. He was holding a large cardboard box under each arm. He turned, closed the door with his foot, then set the boxes on the desk. He began to open them as he spoke.

"I want you to put these in order of the time periods they cover. Start on the top shelf of that—" he pointed at which one he wanted, "case over there, the earliest on the left, running to the latest on the right." Blue eyes flashed my way. "Do you understand the instructions?"

"Yeah," I said.

"'Yeah?'" he repeated. "Is that it?"

He wanted me to say 'yes sir,' of that I was sure. To comply would be to 'stay out of trouble,' like I had promised myself I would. But if I did, it would be submissive, weak.

And weak was the one thing I hated to be.

"Yup," I answered. I promptly strode past him, plunked myself down into a chair, and began pulling books from boxes, pointedly ignoring Aeneid. I heard him shift behind me.

"Jira..." His voice was closer than I'd expected it to be, and it startled me. I spun around in my chair to find him leaning over me, looking down, a hand on the chair back, and a hand on the desk in front of me, creating a cage, preventing escape. Despite how uncomfortable that made me, and the uncomfortable position it made me assume in order to look him in the eye, it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

"Jira..." he repeated. "This is only going to work if you respect me." His eyes were less cold, more determined than anything, and the transition was unnerving. "Fighting me isn't going to help matters." I did my best to glare up at him, despite the uncomfortable way I had to crane my neck to do so.

"Aeneid—" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"Call me that again and I'll be forced to give you another session." He snapped, eyes growing hard again. He was trying to intimidate me, but that wouldn't work. I wouldn't let him win, my stubborn side was screaming for control.

"May I get started, Mr. Aeneid?"

I had used his name.

He regarded me quietly, then pushed himself away from the chair. Running his hand through his hair, he turned away.

"Another session it is, then."

He walked towards the exit, placed his hand on the knob, then paused. He craned his head over his shoulder to look at me, still twisted around in my seat.

"I'll be back in forty minutes to check on your progress."

I didn't say a word, simply watched him leave. Then I heard the lock click on the door as I slumped into my seat.

_He's locking me in,_ I thought. _That bastard._

I looked at the daunting task in front of me, then pulled glanced at one of the larger books. It was an unusually weighty tome, and the title was familiar. With a start, I realized that I actually own a copy of it. I set the thing down, then stood and peered into the box.

I grinned.

I owned practically everything in the cardboard container; I wouldn't even have to open them to see which order they should go in.

_Peace of cake_, I thought. _Won't he be surprised..._

I heard the key click in the lock almost exactly forty minutes later.

"What are you doing?" he growled. I was currently curled up in the chair he had left me in, book cradled on my lap, legs tucked under me.

"I finished," I said simply. He quirked a finely arched brow at me, taking in the sight of the empty boxes and filled shelves. He said nothing; simply strode over to the shelf and ran his fingers over the books' spines, checking my work. Then he turned to me.

"Fast worker."

"Not really," I said. "I own practically all of them." He looked surprised at this.

"You mean you _like_ history?" he asked. I bristled.

"Why does everyone find it so hard to believe that a girl can like it? Stereotypes..." I said in disgust. "History is–"

"There's nothing wrong with a girl liking history," he said quietly. "I actually had thought you might have, seeing as how you were able to so readily connect the significance of my names." I laughed at that.

"We learned that in seventh grade geography! I was surprised no one else remembered." I smiled, joking.

He said nothing, just walked around the desk to sit in the large leather swivel-chair behind it. He laced his fingers together, elbows on the desk, and rested his chin on his thumbs, regarding me over the entwined digits.

"I did not think to prepare any more tasks for you to complete," he said. I shrugged.

"If they're history related, I'll get them done so fast you'll have to give me three a session," I said, proud of my mental prowess.

"Hn..." he murmured, thinking. Then, finally:

"What music do you like?" I blanched at the question.

"What? Why?"

"I'm trying to fill the silence here," he said impatiently. "Remember, you have two sets of sessions: that's four weeks." He smirked. "That's a rather long time to spend with someone you know nothing about."

"True..." I relented. "I like rock." Aeneid nodded.

"Me, too."

"Really? I figured you for opera or something; y'know, really artsy," I said truthfully. He looked amused.

"Now who's making stereotypes?"

I felt anger bubble. "I was being _honest_," I snapped.

"I know."

I gnashed my teeth; this guy was getting on my nerves with that imperious attitude of his. Those blue eyes of his were maddening.

"Ya' sure stare and awful lot, dont'cha, Aeneid?" I snarled. He regarded me for a long moment, then looked away. I was surprised that he had; I would've thought he would have kept right on staring just to anger me further.

"You used my name again," was all he said, eyes averted. "Looks like you now have three sessions."

"Right," I conceded. "You are correct... Aeneid, sir." His gaze snapped back to me quickly as he slammed his hands down upon the desk and leapt to his feet.

"That's_ four_," he snarled, cold eyes blazing with sudden fury. "You're only going to make this harder by being so difficult!" I jumped to my own feet, and though my height was nothing compared to his, I tried to loom over him a bit.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say! I'm stubborn, and so what? And it's not like YOU haven't got a stubborn streak yourself; why can't you just let me call you Aeneid?" I didn't want to have to call a teacher by a false name; it just didn't seem right. "Names are important to me!"

He looked at me incredulously:

"What do you mean?"

"Names are important," I repeated flatly. "My parents taught me that." He thought on that for a moment. Then he said: "I believe our time is up."

I glanced at my watch and saw that he was right. I raised my eyes from my wrist to look at him.

"You're dismissed," he said coldly. "Same time tomorrow." Then he turned back to his desk.

"Now get out."

I fled the room and ran down the hallway, and didn't stop running until I had gotten back to my house. Dark was only just beginning to fall. My lungs burned from the exertion; every breath feeling like a knife shoved deep into my chest. Gasping, I rummaged around for my key, stepped inside, and got myself a drink of water. When I had recovered sufficiently, I picked up the phone and dialed Ami.

"Hello?"

"Ami, it's me," I said.

"Jira!" she cried. "How'd it go?"

I filled her in on everything: the way his office looked, the task I had been given, and then made the mistake of telling her about my other issued sessions. She greeted this news with a resounding "WHAAAAAT?!" and then proceeded to chew me out for being so pig-headed. I held the phone about a foot away from my ear until her exasperated bitchings quieted.

"What on earth possessed you to make you act that way?" she asked for what seemed like the umteenth time.

"He won't let me call him by his name," I said flatly.

"...Oh," was all she managed to get out. I went on:

"You know me, Ami. I can't call people by anything other than their name, and that's that." I had good reason, too, but was loathe to bring up old, hurtful subjects. "I won't tell him because I just don't think it'll help matters. You've seen the looks people give me when I tell them about the incident." I heard her sigh, then heard something shrill and loud in the background on her end. Ami must've covered the phone with her hand then, because her reply to that sound was muffled.

"Mom calling you?" I asked.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I've got to go."

"See you tomorrow, then," I said, and hung up.

I then realized I was tried. So tired, in fact, that I skipped reading the paper, skipped dinner; simply showered and fell into bed, exhausted.

* * *

AUTHOR TIME

Edited 5/27/08/.


	6. Chapter 5: Dodgeball

By Blood Connected

A fanfiction by Vir M.

Chapter 5

"Dodgeball"

The day after my first two hours in hell was a B Block day.

What this meant was that I'd have to endure not two, but THREE hours in Aeneid's glowering company. Oh, joy, I could hardly wait.

I stopped by the library that morning to break the news of my sessions to Ms. Saxen, and felt a knife shoot through my heart when I saw her disappointed face.

Damn that Aeneid. I thought darkly as I stalked off. I just wish he'd back the fuck off.

The day passed without incident. Much to my dismay, the moment Ami and I sat down with Sarita and co. for lunch on the grounds, I was bombarded with questions: What was his office like? What did he make you do as punishment? Was he a good-looking up close as from afar? I excused myself early and took shelter in the library. I had been assigned an English essay on Shakespeare the day before, and got to work on that for a good while during the remainder of lunch.

Ami joined me at the start of study hall, and, since Sarita's group had decided to stay outside where they had eaten, I was spared more questions. I had a pleasant surprise though: Karen had decided to accompany Ami and got to join us. Ami and I spent the period gently coaxing her out of her shell, and my hypothesis was proved correct: Karen and I got along very nicely indeed.

At study hall's end, Ami and I split away from Karen to hurry off to history. "Lie low today, okay?" Ami pleaded. "You already have eight weeks worth of sessions, you don't need anymore!"

Aeneid was sitting at his desk as we walked in, neon head bent over a sheaf of papers, pointedly ignoring us. Sarita was sitting in the usual spot; she waved us over as we entered.

"Did you hear?" Sarita whispered to us as we sat down. "There was another killing in Canary; 'The Slasher', they're calling him!" She didn't look at all alarmed, however, only excited to have a new piece of gossip to dissect. "He struck only sixty miles from town this time!" She was about to continue when the bell rang, efficiently silencing her.

"Class, textbooks have been issued. Come get them." Aeneid was standing over several large boxes placed beneath the blackboard, waiting for us to take a book. The class, almost in unison, stood and walked down the steps to receive them is silence, forming a line at the boxes. Ami, Sarita and I got in near the end. I looked up at Aeneid, who was standing by the boxes, and realized he was staring at me.

Or, more specifically, my legs.

I began to blush furiously. A teacher for Christ' sake!, I thought. Staring at my legs! That pervert! Funny though, he doesn't look at all pleased...

When I made it to the front and bent to pick a book, he addressed me: "Young lady..."

I looked him in the eye as I straightened my back, book in hand. "Yes, Mr. Aeneid?"

His face darkened. "That's five."

Drat. What is that, I thought, two and a half months with this guy now? Geez, does he ever lighten up? Instead of arguing, I simply said: "Yes, sir."

He pinned me with that stare and began again, his altogether too-handsome features set in a glower. "Your skirt is too short, young lady."

I looked down at my pale, bare legs as I contemplated his words, then looked back up at him. "I like my skirt."

He glared. "Get a longer one by tomorrow or I'll issue you another session."

My temper flared. "Be my guest!" I growled quietly, glaring up at him from under my bangs in what I hoped looked like a menacing posture. The class had gone silent.

"That's six," he said. I turned around, marched through my shocked classmates, and took my seat once more.

The rest of the period passed quickly; I sat there and fumed at A) myself, for losing control and letting him get to me, and B) Aeneid, for being what I believed to be a domineering, sexist PIG. I also noticed, despite my fuming and much to my dismay, that he was an excellent and thorough teacher.

So what if I have a short skirt? I reasoned. No need to get worked up about it; most of the girls here wear 'em shorter than I do!

When the bell rang, Aeneid strode quickly out the door, beating all the students. Sarita, Ami and I rose, and once again I was assailed by comments:

"You need anger management, Jira, this is getting out of hand–"

"Go girl, another four weeks with that HOTTIE! What is that, like, twelve in all–?"

"Would you two just SHUT UP!" I yelled, wheeling around to face them in the middle of the hallway. They both stood there, open-mouthed.

"I mean REALLY–" I bellowed, "I have enough stress as it is without your constant NAGGING!" I stormed down the hallway away from them, temper rising hot and heady in my skull.

Luckily for me (but not so much to all the innocent bystanders) my next class was P.E., and even luckier still—we were playing dodge ball. I opened my gym locker hurriedly and stripped down, then pulled on my skimpy little uniform of tennis whites. I slammed the small door shut with a crash, then headed out onto the court.

Coach Williams was a hulking, muscular woman who looked like she was on steroids. However, she was actually quite nice behind the rough exterior, and I was rather fond of her. She waved as she set out foam balls on the half-court line of the gym, and I shouted a greeting. I saw Ami out of the corner of my eye, looking my way but not approaching.

Good, I thought. That'll teach her.

"Girls!" Coach Williams called. "Line up so I can divide you into teams for dodge ball. No pushing, now!" We obediently formed a line as she numbered us off. Ami had been numbered a one, as had I, and we walked over to our end of the court in silence. She stood about three feet away from me, hesitant to make contact, and I ignored her.

So what if I'm acting like a bitch? I thought. She deserves it.

Why she deserved it, however, the more rational side of me couldn't say.

"Jira...?" I jumped. Ami was standing at my elbow, her eyes red. Had she been crying? "I'm sorry, Jira, I know I'm a nag, but..." I sighed as she looked away, her lower lip trembling slightly. I felt my (deeply buried) sensitive side loom up out of my subconscious to take control.

"It's okay."

She brightened considerably at this. "Really?" She squealed, throwing me into a bear hug.

"Yeah," I said, returning the embrace. In truth, I was still pissed, but being mad at my best friend wouldn't do me any good, so I did my best to forget about it. I needed her support.

"Get ready!" Coach was bellowing from the sidelines. We did as told: one hand touched the wall, feet set, ready to run for the balls in the center of the court. Then the whistle blew.

TWEEEEEEET!

We exploded from our positions, dashing towards the red spheres. My field of vision narrowed: the only thing in my world was that red ball. I grabbed one and hurled it into the opposing team's ranks, hitting one unfortunate girl on the thigh: she went down with a squeal then limped off the court, shooting me a dirty look.

I love dodge ball; I always have and I always will. It acts as a stress reliever; all pounding feet, flinging arms, sweat beading in every pore. The only problem is that my opponents usually seemed to wind up nursing bruises the size of dinner plates... but I digress.

I continued to batter the other team with my angry throws, then eventually dropped a ball after touching it and was eliminated. Coach looked at me as I was leaning against the wall of the gym, panting and winded, and remarked: "Top form, as always."

I flashed a grin at her. "This is the only exercise I get. Might as well make the most of it."

She laughed and went back to reffing the game.

By the time the dismissal bell rang, I was drenched in sweat. I'll grab a quick shower before my session, I decided. I told Ami to go on without me; she had a piano lesson to attend and I didn't want her to be late.

* * *

I got out of the shower and toweled myself dry, then stepped into my under-things and school-uniform. I pulled my hair back into its customary ponytail, then shook it out around my shoulders impatiently so it could dry. I sat on one of the benches, laced up my shoes, grabbed my bag and left. My wet hair made me look like a drowned rat, and I was rather enjoying the effect, playing with its layers and adjusting it whenever I came into contact with a reflective surface.

I entered Aeneid's office without knocking, and found him sitting behind his desk, staring at the door. He sat up straighter when I entered, then glared. "You're late," he said frostily.

I shrugged. "I had P.E. and needed a shower."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You needed a shower?" His voice was incredulous.

"Yeah, so what?" I said, annoyed.

"After playing dodge ball?" He was clearly confused as to how I could need a shower over so non-athletic of a game.

"How'd you know we were playing dodge ball?" I asked suspiciously. "I'll have you know I get really worked up when I play that game; people get hurt."

His expression shifted towards one of amusement. "I'll bet they do."

I blushed then, I couldn't help it; that stare was piercing. "Yeah, well..." I mumbled. "I've been stressed lately."

He sighed, then said: "I don't have any chores for you, so get started on your homework. You can work at my desk for the time being." He had indeed cleared off half of it to make room. I walked over and began to pull papers and reference books from my bag and spread them on the surface, getting ready to finish my English paper.

English was one of my weaker areas of study, and I was halfway through the editing process and about ready to give up on it about an hour into the session. I slung the paper, covered in red corrections, onto the table in disgust and folded my arms over my chest. I then abruptly leaned forward, running my hands through my hair as I braced my forehead on the cool tabletop. I heard Aeneid shift.

"What's wrong?"

"I hate English," I whined. "I can't edit this properly; I've read it too many times." I sat back in my chair. "I was gonna get Ami to do it, but..." I looked up at him. He was regarding me with another of his amused expressions.

"Give it here."

I sat there, clueless.

"I'll edit it for you," he clarified. I wordlessly handed him the paper, wondering why in the world his demeanor had suddenly become so much more friendly. The only sound in the room for some time was the scratching of his pen on my paper as he made numerous corrections to the text.

"Your reasoning and points of logic are excellent, but your sentence structure is atrocious. And you need to work on your grammar. Badly."

I moaned. "Is it that bad?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "It is that bad." He handed back the paper, then glanced at his watch. "I believe we're out of time," he said softly. "You may go."

"Thanks, Aeneid," I said offhandedly, gathering my things and hurriedly stuffing them into my bag.

"That's seven," he remarked. "The name again."

"Shit," I said. Two more weeks...

"And that would be eight." His face was drawn. "We're well past Christmas at this point."

I calculated in my head, found that he was right, and felt my shoulders slump miserably.

"I know," I said, then smiled half-heartedly. "But at least this year I won't be spending Christmas alone."

His eyes snapped up to look at me at that. "Alone?" he asked.

I nodded. "I told you the first day. My parents are missionaries, remember? They're in Africa."

His face darkened. "You have no family here?"

I nodded glumly. "The only ones I have in America are my aunt and uncle, and they only come down during the summer," I explained. "They don't like my mom and dad much, so therefore I'm not all that likeable as well."

His face was set into a stony stare. "You live alone?" he asked. "Not in the dorms, correct?"

I affirmed his question with a shrug. "Sometimes I like the solitude."

He nodded. "I can relate."

We stared at each other for some time, then with a jolt I realized he looked sad– very sad, in fact. Before I could ask what was wrong he broke our gaze.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jira." I didn't answer him, it wouldn't have meant anything. I simply walked out the door.

* * *

When I reached home, it was almost completely dark. Darkness had begun to fall earlier and earlier as autumn faded into winter, and the temperature reflected the transition. The wind had picked up into a cold, biting force that made my teeth chatter in my skull. My numb fingers trembled as I fumbled with the lock; I was eager for the blessed warmth of the indoors. I had shut the door behind me when I realized I had left the newspaper on the driveway, so I had to dash back out and grab the thing with achingly stiff and cold limbs.

When I had safely re-entered the house, I looked at the front headline:

"THIRD VICTIM OF 'THE SLASHER' FOUND ON OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN, POLICE HAVE NO LEADS!"

I cursed; was no place safe anymore? The maniac was now in OUR town!

The article ran over the facts: scales and feather, body in several pieces, etc. The woman killed– a twenty year old girl working at a family bakery– had been heading for her country home when for some reason she had abandoned her vehicle. Her body was found about one hundred yards away, tri-sected and bloody, head and legs disconnected from her torso.. The police had issued a statement that no one was to go out alone after dark, and if travel by night was essential, then to do it in large groups. I gulped at the group thing: with night falling so early nowadays, my trips home from my sessions were fringing on the twilight, if not overlapping into total darkness.

But I'd worry about that later. Right now, I had more important things to worry about... like correcting an English essay.

I pulled open my bag and began to take out my hastily-stuffed-in papers when I noticed something out of place.

A large, leather bound book had been mixed in with my things. It had no title on the cover, but when I opened it, the title page bore four words, handwritten in a sharp, flowing script. It read:

"The Legend of Sparda"

* * *

AUTHOR TIME Edited 5/28/08

In regards to Vergil's skirt issues: it seemed appropriate, for he seems like the type who's more into conservative women. If you read the second volume of the DMC manga (yes, there is one) he gets onto a thirteen-going-on-thirty girl named Alice for "selling your soul to grow up too fast, like so many other girls wanting to be painted whores." I figured short skirts on women would bug him

And also, the whole "Redgrave" thing is a reference to the DMC Novel (yeah, there's one of those too). 'Tony Redgrave' is Dante's alias. 'Gliver' is Vergil's (it's his backwards). His choice of the name will be covered at a later date.

I've also decided that Jira's name is the dumbest thing ever. I mean, it fits the story and all (you'll see why later) but I still wouldn't name my kid that. I mean it may fit SOME people, but not me or my tastes. I'm going to keep the name for her, though, as it seems to suit her nicely (it's slightly harsh, like her sharp attitude/tongue).

Vergil © CAPCOM

Jira and Co. © VIR M.


	7. Chapter 6: Legends

By Blood Connected

A fanfiction by Vir M.

Chapter 6

"Legends"

I leafed past the title page, looking for an author or date of publication, but found none.

There were no chapters as far as I could tell, though it appeared to be a historical text of some sort, and the long, thin volume was entirely hand-written. The book was about eleven inches tall and about eight inches wide, but was only about a quarter of an inch thick; the size, length, and shape of a rather lengthy children's picture book. It did indeed have pictures– gothic styled etchings of flames and demons wielding swords, like a mediaeval, demonic fairy tale.

I flipped back to the first page and began to read.

* * *

Almost four hours later, I was still wrapped up in the book. I read it and re-read it repeatedly, drinking in the flow of the brilliantly written words and the sight of the gracefully drawn images.

The story was this: A demon, The Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, rebelled against his own kind and locked the demons away into their own world, away from the humans. He sacrificed a human priestess in order to trap the king of devil's on the other side, though by doing so sealed his own powers away. He then reigned quietly over the human world for some time, until his eventual death.

The pictures of Sparda in battle portrayed him as a caped, armored figure with a horned helmet and large, fearsome-looking sword. In contrast, the pictures displaying him as the calm, kind ruler of humans showed him as a white-haired, monocled man in a purple velvet suit. He was surprisingly handsome for a drawing, and more than once I caught myself staring at his painted features in awe.

_I wonder how this thing got into my things_, I pondered for the nth time. _It must've been on Aeneid's desk when I got all my stuff outta my bag, then got mixed in with my stuff as I cleaned it all up. _I ran a hand through my disheveled hair._ I'll just have to leave it in his office tomorrow; it'd be too embarrassing to admit I took it. He'd make fun of me._

I put the book on my bedside table and glanced at the square-shaped timepiece on my wall: it was already eleven o'clock. I mumbled an oath as I scrambled for my English paper and got to work.

* * *

Over the nest three weeks, I never found a chance to casually leave the manuscript in his office. He was always there, watching me, those gas-flame eyes trained on my every move. The tasks he gave me were tedious– I graded endless stacks of paper, shelved astronomical numbers of books in the library, filed copious amounts of paperwork. The tasks were busy work designed to frustrate me; the more tedious they became, the tighter my nerves were stretched. And, since my rope was normally pulled taught by my irascible nature, I became even more snappish and aggressive, earning myself as much as five more sessions a night.

One night in mid-October, I was put to work in the library mending books torn and dirtied books. I had several rolls of clear packing tape scattered about me on the floor where I sat cross-legged, and was reinforcing book jackets and spines when I heard the unmistakable crash of thunder outside. I put aside the book I was doctoring, stood up, stretched, and made my way over to one of the high windows.

The rain was driving itself in sheets, and due to the frigid air, sleet was almost guaranteed to be driving along with it. I felt my blood run cold; I could never make it home in this.

_I can probably bunk with Ami in the dorms tonight, _I thought. _Only one problem though– she doesn't have an extra bed. _I cursed my stupidity at not bringing and umbrella or a slicker and resigned myself to frostbite.

I made my way back to my work-place, thinking about the past few weeks:

"The Slasher" had killed eleven people right outside the village's limits, and the police had brought in the FBI, though they had no more luck tracking the killer down than the local law enforcement had. I had somehow managed to make it home before dark (which was now the set curfew for citizens) only by a hair as of late; soon I would be traveling home well past twilight. The rainy season had come around (late autumn in these parts was always wet) and more than once I had arrived home chilled to the bone and shaking uncontrollably. God only knows how I had avoided hypothermia.

I sat down one more among the battered texts, heavy-hearted and dreading my trip home. I picked up a copy of _The Crucible _suffering from a nearly dislocated front cover, shook out a length of ultra-stick tape from a roll, and got back to work.

About and hour and a half later, I was startled out of my fixing frenzy by the sound of footsteps. I turned; Aeneid was walking towards me over the marble floor, long stride eating up the distance. When he reached me, he bent, and began to wordlessly load the mended manuscripts onto a shelf marked "Sort." I was very familiar with that shelf; Ms. Saxen always kept books that needed to be put into their proper place on that shelf to keep them safe until she could find time for them.

I gathered the rolls of tape into a pile, then scooped them into my arms so that I could carry them to a nearby table. I looked back at Aeneid; he was standing idly, waiting for me to finish. He spoke:

"Get your things, please, and follow me." He then turned on his heel and marched out of the library. I trailed after him, wondering where we were going. Our time was about up, he wasn't going to assign me a new task, was he?

Instead, he lead me to the front of the history wing's staff entrance: it was a set of glass doors facing a car port, overhung by an awning designed to shield those under it from the weather. It did nothing for the cold, though. He turned to me as we got outside, and said: "Wait here, I won't be long." And with that, he headed out into the night.

I sat on a bench under the awning, huddling up in my jacket to keep warm, wishing he'd hurry up so I could go home and crawl into my warm bed at last.

About three minutes passed until something happened:

A low-riding, sleek black sports car pulled up in front of me, dripping water onto the pavement, exhaust showing up clearly in the cold air. I didn't know cars from jack, but even I could see that the car was most likely very, very expensive. It was tastefully simple in design, but still able to convey the quality of its design.

Suddenly, the driver side window rolled down, revealing a very familiar pair of ice-chip eyes.

"Get in," he said.

I blanched. "Wha—?"

"You can't walk home in this," he snapped. "Just get in the car."

I did as I was told numbly, circling around to the passenger side of the low-slung vehicle and quickly opening the door.

The immaculately clean interior was tasteful black leather and smelled like new car, an odd combination of the leather from the seats and musky smell I couldn't identify. The controls on the dashboard glowed a cool, vivid blue that reminded me of a deeper version of Aeneid's eyes. The car, all in all, suited him perfectly.

As soon as I got the door closed behind me, he guided the car smoothly out from under the overhang and into the rainy dark, piloting the sleek thing with professional ease The windshield wipers beat out a steady rhythm as they whisked water off of the glass, the engine hummed rather than roared, and the heater was turned to a pleasant, cozy temperature. I turned to Aeneid, shifting in my seat so I could face him, my back leaning into the door.

"Thank you... For the ride."

"It's nothing."

We sat in silence for a moment until I noticed what was connected to the tape player set into the dash:

An iPod.

I grinned in the semi-darkness, thinking about how out of character the item looked. I was about to reach for the tiny thing when he spoke: "Pick something." His eyes were trained steadily on the road ahead of him. "Music, I mean."

I held thing object in my hand a moment until it booted up, then selected his list of artists. I scrolled through it for a moment, then my eyes opened wide in shock.

_Our tastes are exactly the same!_

Indeed they were: his tracks matched mine almost exactly; new rock and old, metal with a spattering of punk and thrash, indie and alterna in abundance, with the occasional the odd rap song and country title mixed in.

_Weird,_ I thought. _I didn't think he'd like ANY of this stuff..._

At first I wanted to pick "When You Were Young" by The Killers, but just before selecting it I thought of how romantic it was and how awkward it would be, and changed my mind. Then I thought to pick "Closer" by the Nine Inch Nails, but instantly recalled the subject matter and hastily chose another. Then I found it:

_I'm looking at you through the glass...  
Don't know how much time has passed  
Oh god it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever  
Feels like home sitting all alone inside your head_

I sang along softly to the melody of one of my favorite songs, enjoying the pound of the bass through the car's speakers. I glanced at Aeneid then; he was staring at the road, but he had shifted towards me slightly, and appeared to be listening. Embarrassed, I quieted.

"It's a good song," he said suddenly.

"One of my favorites," I concurred.

_How do you feel? That is the question  
But I forget.. you don't expect an easy answer  
When something like a soul becomes  
Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes  
You cant expect a bit of hope  
And while your outside looking in  
Describing what you see  
Remember what your staring at is me_

I looked out the tinted window as I hummed along for a moment to the familiar verse, then whipped my head around as another voice joined mine.

_Cause I'm looking at you through the glass...  
Don't know how much time has passed  
All I know is that it feels like forever  
When no one ever tells you that forever  
Feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head_

His voice was soft, husky, and melodic; it carried a bittersweet, lamenting quality that added a strange poignancy to the lyrics. He sang facing the road, but as the last note drifted off into space, he turned to me.

His blue eyes were solemn and sincere as they bored into mine.

"You're home," he said softly, voice low. I peered out the windshield; indeed, we were parked in my driveway– I hadn't even noticed our arrival. I turned back to him, hoping to offer him a smile and a thanks, but he had turned to face straight ahead.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said cheerily. "And thanks for the ride." He nodded, not looking at me, face drawn. I climbed out of the car, Stone Sour still playing on the speakers, and ran through the rain to my front porch, shielding my head with my book bag. When I turned back to the driveway, the car was still idling quietly. I waved with one hand as I retrieved my key with the other, but couldn't see if my farewell had been returned due to the darkness and the tinted windows. The car slowly backed out into the street, then pulled away into the rain. I turned back to the door, fit my key in the lock, then let myself in.

Almost three hours later, a very strange realization came over me.

Somehow, Aeneid had known how to find my house without any directions.

* * *

AUTHOR TIME

Edited 5/25/08

The whole song bit came to me randomly sometime last night, and I picked Through Glass mainly because the tune reminds me of something Vergil would probably listen to. I also think and iPod would seem material to him, so that's Jira said it was out of character. Plus, Vergil listening to music? I envision him more of a "destroy things to relax" kind of guy. You?

Vergil& The Sparda Legend © CAPCOM

Stone Sour © "Through Glass"

Jira and Co. © Vir M.


	8. Chapter 7: Peace

By Blood Connected

A Fanfiction by Vir M.

Chapter 7

"Peace"

J. L. Tyler's Academy was a non-religious school. Being as such, Halloween, a secular holiday, was a VERY big event. An annual masked dance was held for the students on Halloween night; the student committee raised funds, decorated, and provided refreshments. The students were expected to have their own costume and masks, be they hand made or store bought, and attendance was pretty much mandatory.

And I, being the total MORON that I am, just happened to land myself a session with Aeneid--

–right smack in the middle of the party.

I had mouthed off to him in class... rather explicitly. The subject of my skirt length had come up again, and I had gotten so royally pissed I was unable to see straight, and had yelled a rather nasty thought of mine aloud:

Something along the lines of "Fuck you, pervert," to be exact.

I had watched his pale, high-boned cheeks turned a VERY delicate shade of pink and had realized I was in for it. I had never, not once, seen him blush. Not _one time. _Here he was, though, turning a color quite unnatural for his disposition, and I was going to be on the receiving end of whatever it foreshadowed.

It had foreshadowed the words: "Don't bother with a costume Friday night, Miss Jira. You'll be spending the evening with me." This statement had been accompanied by a scathing look meant to wither me where I stood... and it had nearly worked.

My stubborn nature had saved me my dignity, at the very least...

Ami, who had seemed to give up on lecturing me for the entire course of October, wasted no time in getting her nagging equipment back in gear. I didn't hear of anything other than "anger management this" and "stubborn streak that" until the day prior to the dance, when I had dually exploded in her face about being such a kill joy and making feel worse than I already did, which was bad enough to begin with.

I wasn't getting any support from Karen, either. She and I had grown closer, but she and Ami had seemed to band together when it came to scolding me. I noticed, however, that Karen, at times, seemed to act as Ami's voice of reason: she had, on several occasions, told Ami to lay off when she noticed my rising fury and discomfort. I was grateful to her for this, but still resented her scolds, though not nearly as much as Ami's.

But if Ami and Karen did anything that bothered me, it was now completely over shadowed by Sarita. At first, she had found the rising amounts of disciplinary sessions comical. Now, however, she had begun to resent the fact that I was spending so much time with Aeneid, whom she had dubbed 'The Sex God.' She had begun to spread rumors; that he and I were secretly dating, that he gave me leniency on my grades. I laughed when they reached my ears: I had a 'B' in his class, the first non-A in a history course I had ever had. If anything, he graded me more difficultly than anyone.

Here's an example: One day in class, he had given us a packet filled with worksheets to complete the following day, and, as an experiment, I had worked with Ami so our copies were exactly the same. When the grades were returned, mine was ten points less then hers: he had written in bold, liquid red letters the words "HANDWRITING, LANCASTER, HANDWRITING."

"We're not in a penmanship course!" I burst out when we had left the classroom. "He's supposed to be grading on content!" He'd also never commented on my penmanship before, and that's what had got me the most: those ten points had cost me a perfect score.

Despite the worry over grades, the dance was looming, and I had never felt worse. For the last two years I had spent living at J.L.Tyler's, the Halloween Dance had been my favorite part, the part I had looked forward to the most.

And now I wasn't allowed to attend.

The sessions with Aeneid were getting out of hand. When he tried to dominate me as a teacher, and my irascibility reared its ugly head, our personalities would clash, creating so much friction between our equally power-hungry psyches that twice I was nearly driven to hitting him; I have no idea how I refrained. His personality was quiet of voice, quick to think, and prone to random, seething outbursts accompanied by harsh, sibilant snarls of unadulterated rage. His quick temper was on-par with mine, and having two hot-heads in the room is something I've found to be a dangerous combination.

He would insult, so would I. He would dominate, I'd fight. He would push, I'd push back. There was never peace between us, except for those quiet, music filled car-rides home he refused to let me skip out on. He would, on those long rides home, talk to me about anything and everything: music, books, history, my home life; he acted _decent._ Even when the rainy season let up, he made me let him transport me home each day. His reply was that 'The Slasher' was still on the loose, and it was his responsibility as a teacher to see I remained safe. Funny how he didn't seem to care about the state of my MENTAL health very much...

The night before the dance, I finished working on my costume: a long, red and black Victorian inspired gothic dress with full sleeves, voluminous petticoats, low neckline, and a corset. I had dubbed it "The Gothic Courtesan" as a joke. The thing doubled as a project costume for my musical theater class, but I had been planning on wearing it at the dance so I wouldn't have to make another costume just for the occasion. The only problem with it was that the colours clashed horribly with my eyes. I liked the dress so much, however, I was beyond caring.

I took it to school that cold, clear morning in a hanging bag. The sky was a washed-out grey, reflecting my empty, dejected mood. Upon arriving at school, I headed over to the theater building, where I stored my never-to-be-worn creation in a locker the department head let me use for the purpose.

I was really beginning to despise Aeneid. He'd taken everything enjoyable from me: afternoons with Ms. Saxen in the library, hanging out with Ami, the Halloween dance... even my love of HISTORY was being affected. I didn't read about it for fun anymore; it only served remind me of him and our blasted sessions.

The day of the dance passed achingly slowly; all the students were in an uproar, discussing costumes and masks and dates while I just sat numbly and listened. I now had understanding for those dogs, teased by their owners, who dangled bits of bacon in front of their noses, but who were never allowed to eat the treat. Luckily though, Ami sensed my despair and left off with the scolding.

The day dragged on; the essay Aeneid had helped me correct was passed back to me after all these weeks, and I had received a perfect score.

_Only because he helped me, _I thought. _Otherwise, I would've failed... damn him..._ I was now in his debt, and well as at his mercy. Could my existence get any worse?

The answer to THAT question, naturally, was a 'yes.'

* * *

When I reported to his office five minutes before the start of the masquerade, I found he had set up a typewriter on a desk he had dragged in, and a cardboard box of smallish size filled with old, mildewy papers sat next to the accompanying chair.

Aeneid was sitting behind his own desk, as always, and shot me a small, sadistic smile as I walked in.

"You are to re-type all of those," he said slowly, gesturing at the box. "If you finish, I might let you out early." His ultramarine eyes glittered. "You'll be using that typewriter, so if you mis-type, you'll have to start that page again."

I kept my facial expression a carefully regulated neutral, but inwardly I cursed. I was a horribly slow typist, and was frequently hitting two keys at once, or the wrong key altogether.

I sat down, not saying a word, took a sheet from the container, and began to type.

An hour later, I was growing frustrated. I had the tendency to type out everything perfectly, then, in my haste to complete that page, would rush the last sentence or so and mistype on the last word. As my frustration increased, so did the frequency of my errors. Soon, I was unable to complete the first three sentences without screwing up.

The worst part of the deal was Aeneid. Whenever I'd toss a paper into the reject pile, he'd make one remark or another about my slow progress and abundance of errors. The remarks were made with such infuriatingly casual ease, he could have been discussing the weather.

I tossed another crumpled paper away from me furiously, then began to impatiently feed another into the typewriter. Aeneid was watching.

"Failed again?" he asked—well, taunted. "We're not getting a bit frustrated, are we?" Those eyes of his were maddening; they bored into me like an ice-chip drill. I ground me teeth, managed to type two words, screwed up typing the word 'and,' and ripped the paper out of the typewriter with such force the machine fell off the table.

I didn't move to pick the thing up; I just sat there and stared at it, numb. Then Aeneid spoke:

"Clumsy, aren't you?"

I bolted to my feet instantly, eyes blazing, teeth gnashing together with such force I felt the coppery, iron taste of blood seeping from my tortured gums.

"Stop goading me, you fucking JERK!" I yelled, voice raising an octave. "You act so superior, you asshole! Who died and gave YOU the right to act like a fucking KING?" The words began to flood out of me in a torrent of emotion; I couldn't control them.

I began to describe how frustrated he made me, how unfair he was, how he always chose ME to pick on, how he had taken everything: history, the library, Ami, the Masquerade. I screamed about how confused he made me; he was so civil, intelligent, and kind on those car rides home, but so unjust, biased, and uncaring everywhere else.

When the words stopped and I was left standing in their wake, trembling with unfettered rage, the sight of his shocked, disbelieving face struck me like a forty pound weight to the solar plexus. I crumpled back into my chair, limbs turned to liquid. There was a moment of silence so prolonged I was sure it would never end, until he spoke:

"I fell similarly towards you."

I jerked my head up to look him square in the eye, disbelief coursing through me. When had _**I**_ acted as he had? His expression was neutral, but his eyes were troubled.

"You're intelligent," he said. "But headstrong. It will create problems for you in the future." His eyes closed. "You are constantly trying to change the unchangeable, refusing to give in to those in charge. I noticed this the day I met you, and I ever since then I have been trying to help you."

I nearly began to rise to my feet again at this injustice, how in the world had he been HELPING me? Before I could say anything, he continued:

"The point of these sessions was not to break you, as I see I have done, but to gently—"

"I'm not broken—" I started to say weakly but he continued, effectively silencing me by not recognizing that I had spoken.

"—but to gently persuade you, through trial and error, to bend instead of standing steadfast... and eventually breaking." His eyes opened. "The rides home-- they were to show you that I could be decent if I wanted to be." His gaze was steady. "I thought that if you could see me as a person—not just as your teacher, but as a _person_—you could see that playing by MY rules might one day pay off, and we could be something close to friends."

"You...?" I stared at him, waiting for the catch, waiting for him to glare and condemn me for something, but he did not. Instead, he leaned forward, forcing me to meet his gaze on a more equal level.

"Let's make a deal," he said, his uncharacteristically pleading blue eyes causing his face to soften into an imploring expression. "If I, in future, am civil, and you, in future, are less stubborn, and at least TRY to make an effort to abide by my rules—" he paused for breath, he'd never made a speech this long in my presence, "then can there be some semblance of peace between us?"

I sat there in shock, unmoving. He looked at me, for once uncertainty flitting across his handsome features.

"If you don't want—"

"It's a deal."

His eyes snapped to mine, surprised by my ready acceptance.

"But we'll have to have these sessions every other day," I said firmly, though my voice still shook slightly. "So I can go to the library more often."

He nodded. "As long as I am still allowed to take you home every day."

"Of course," I said.

"And the days we meet are to be the ones you don't have class with me, so I can see you every day," he said casually.

"And you have to grade fairly," I blurted. "No more taking off for handwriting."

His eyes glittered with unexpected mirth. "Handwriting, which, may I add, is abysmal."

I grinned uncertainly at that, sheepishly; he was right. I slowly leaned under the desk, and picked up the typewriter. "I guess I'll start again..." I said, picking up another piece of paper.

He stood, reached out a large, square-palmed, long-fingered hand, and gently took the paper away. "I think we're all done here," he said, voice low. "Have fun at the party."

I sat there, uncomprehending. I'm sure my face showed my shock, as he seemed to feel the need to repeat himself.

"You heard me—get out of here."

I jumped up, elated.

"Really?!" I squealed. "Oh, thank you, Aeneid, thank you!"

I spun around once on my heel in joy in what I'm sure looked like the most idiotic fashion ever managed, grabbed my bag, then bolted for the door. I remembered our deal (as well as my manners) as I hit the hallway, so I spun around, reopened the door shouted another 'thank you' or two at the still-standing and staring Aeneid, then sprinted down the hallway to go get my costume.

* * *

AUTHOR TIME Edited 5/28/08

Anyway, me and Jira have grown distant as of late, I have no idea what she's up to. Seriously, I typed out this whole chapter, reread it, and was all: _"Did I seriously write that? Or did Jira take over my brain?" _I have no recollection of consciously deciding what to write, it's freaking me out!

Anyway, I'd like to thank(in the order they reviewed) Black Lady Charon, Evil Kuro Neko, Punkrocker505, and Kisara Crystal for reviewing, and Black Lady Charon, Kisara Crystal, Punkrocker505, and xCrazyCorduroyx for adding this story to their favorites! I'm also going to thank Black Lady Charon and Punkrocker505 for adding this to their alert list.

JIRA LANCASTER © VIR M.

VERGIL © CAPCOM.


	9. Chapter 8: All Hallow's Eve

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 8_

"**All-Hallow's Eve"**

* * *

I ran down the hallway as fast as I could, grinning like a loon, my mind racing along with my legs. 

We were at_ peace!_

I could go to the_ dance_!

I dashed across the cold, moonlit grounds, nothing more than a pale face floating through the dark. I reached the theater building not even breathing hard, energized by my joy coursing through my system, let myself into the unlocked building, and retrieved my costume from its locker. Then I hurried off to the dressing rooms while pulling my dress out of its hanging bag.

I held the thing up to me as I flicked on a light switch. It was unwrinkled, luckily, and I quickly began to strip down. Once undressed, I stepped into the outfit, then reached behind myself to do up the buttons. Our musical theater teacher had taught us the art of dressing with out help, and I was very grateful I had taken that course at that moment. Once buttoned in, I proceeded to tightly tie up the laces of the corset-ish thing. It wasn't a REAL corset-- I wouldn't be at all constricted-- but it certainly looked real enough for my purposes. Once I had finished dressing, I looked in the mirror.

I was very pleased with what I saw: the dress highlighted my thin waist while the corset pushed up my A-cup breasts, making them look more full than they really were. The dress flowed gracefully around me in soft, black folds, giving me a regal air.

I reached up and ripped the rubber-band from my ponytail, freeing my hair so it fell around my shoulders in soft waves. I turned to my bag, grabbed a brush, and attacked the strands until they framed my face pleasingly. I had no make-up, so the stuff I applied that morning would have to do. I then gently lifted my mask from the side-pocket of the dress bag.

It was delicate paper-mache, thin, light, and frail, shaped like a butterfly. It was black with small red, faux-pearls edging it. The eyes were rimmed in crimson and their edging flowed into a leafy pattern as it arched down and away from the eye-holes, mirroring the slant of my own eyes

I gently lifted it to my face, then secured it around my head with a red ribbon. I arranged my loose hair so the ribbon was hidden, looked at myself one last time in the mirror, then walked out the door towards the gymnasium.

* * *

They had decorated the place with orange and black streamers, glowing jack-o-lanterns, sheet-ghosts hung from the ceiling while a black banner loudly screamed in orange: "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!" Tables had been set against the walls, leaving a space in the center for a dance floor. A DJ booth had been erected at the front of the gym, and the disc jockey was currently blasting bass-heavy techno. I rushed right over to the crowd of dancers and joined in. 

I've never been comfortable dancing, but all that changes when I hide behind a mask. I'm something of a coward when it comes to dancing in front of people. In this case, however, no one knew it was me, so I was free to dance however I wished. The pounding bass vibrated up through the floor; my heartbeat matched the frantic rhythm of the drums, and I could simply float there, moving. When the song ended, I stepped away from the crowd to take a seat at one of the tables.

I sat there, breathing heavily and was about to go get myself some punch when I heard her:

"Jira?"

Ami and Karen were standing about four feet away from me, eyes wide behind their masks. I raised a hand in lazy greeting.

"Yo."

"Jira! It**_ is _**you!" Ami squealed in surprise. Karen began to grin like a maniac as they both wrestled me into a three-way bear hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Aeneid and I came to terms." I said. Their faces looked confused.

"Came to... terms?" Karen asked. "You said 'terms,' right? Not 'blows?'" I grinned at her.

"To put it shortly, I blew up in his face about how unfair he was, so we compromised... and here I am." I said, spreading my arms wide. "I love your costumes, by the way."

Ami was dressed as a princess, her long blonde hair drawn into a braid and her pink dress setting off the rosy colouring of her skin. Karen was dressed as a vampire: long black dress, red-lined cloak, false fangs made to fit her teeth that were indistinguishable as fakes, save for their length. They both looked lovely, and I was struck by a small pang of jealousy.

_Why can't I ever look like that?_

I banished the thought as soon as it registered; I wasn't going to be brought down even further by stuff like that, not when the evening had taken such a turn for the better. I forced the thought aside as I smiled at them, mask grinding against my cheekbones.

"Did I miss much?"

"Not really." Ami sighed. "Its been rather boring so far... but hey! Soon they're going to start the waltz's and stuff." Each school dance had a twenty minute segment for the teachers composed of classical dances and oldies music, and even though the students were encouraged to join in, many did not. I loved them, however.

"It's not like we have partners though." Stated Karen matter-of-factly. "Though I suppose having a female partner is acceptable..." She turned to Ami and deepened her voice to a more male-ish pitch. "A dance or three, milady?" Ami giggled.

"Feeling silly, huh?" They laughed, and I joined in with relish. It had been far to long since I had gotten to spend quality time with them.

Suddenly, the DJ's voice came blasting through the speakers.

"Ladies and gents, how're you feelin' tonight?"

There was a cheer from the student body, and applause from the faculty.

"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it..." Said the DJ. "Next up, we've got the stuff for the oldsters!"

The 'oldsters' looked rather uncertain at that.

"This year, we've got a twist! 'Find a partner to dance with that has a similar-themed costume as yours...'" he was obviously reading off of a card. "Well, you heard, me, find partners, guys!"

Ami was promptly whisked away by a tall boy in chain-mail; Karen was lead onto the floor (protesting all the while) by a Dracula impersonator.

I was left alone.

I scanned the crowd, looking for a costume... and found none. A 'Gothic Courtesan' was a made up category, after all...

The music began to play: a swing-dance. I watched the couples dance for a while, then leaned my forehead into my hand. I wanted to be out there with everyone.

_Oh well. _I thought. _Can't win 'em all... I should be thankful I even got to go!_ Still, I was bummed. This part of the night was my favorite... The swing ended, and a slow waltz began to play. _Waltz are my favorite... _I thought wistfully.

Then a hand descended onto my bare shoulder.

A very, very cold, metallic hand... I spun around, and found myself staring at a very strange armored figure. The armor was dark-blue, almost black, and was spiky and sharp around the shoulders and helmet. Two large, curled horns protruded from the helmet, looking like a strange, upright ram. A black cape cascaded from the back of the chest piece, and none of the wearer's skin was visible.

As I stared, shocked by his sudden appearance, I was hit by the realization that his costume and mine would make a very fitting match indeed.

He had obviously come to this conclusion as well. He lifted that heavy, cold hand off of my shoulder and extended it towards me, gauntleted palm upraised. I held out a hand wordlessly, and allowed him to grasp the proffered limb and pull me to my feet. His grip was gentle but firm, despite that strange armor, and his mailed fingers created a delicate yet steel-strong cage around my digits. He lead me gently to the floor, seemingly gliding despite armor.

_His costume's amazing... I wonder what that stuff is made out of?_ I thought._ Can't be metal; he wouldn't be able to walk. Isn't plastic though..._ _It sure does _feel _metallic..._ No plastic in all the world could've mimicked the metallic coldness of those plate-mail gloves...

He placed a gentle hand on my waist, then proceeded to lead in the waltz. I stared up at that helmet, attempting to peer through the slots in the visor to see its occupant, but I was too short.

_Damn my height to hell._ I thought sulkily._ I could really do with a can-opener right about now..._

He was surprisingly agile as a dancer. He lead flawlessly, spun me when needed to, and never once stepped on my toes.

When the gliding music faded, he stepped away from me and bowed from the waist with a flourish. I laughed, then curtsied. He stood, and something about his stance told me he was amused at my antics.

Another song, a more lively one, picked up, and I was swept into his armored embrace once more. The fast turns were dizzying, and I felt like I had left my human shell behind me. I laughed, cheeks flushed, with the joy of it all.

When we broke apart, he made another deep bow. Then he turned, and began to stride away from me. I was about to call after him –I mean, a name WOULD be nice– but I heard Ami calling, so I turned to her.

"Who was that? He sure had a nice costume..."

"I dunno." I said. "He didn't take off the helmet."

"Oh..." she pouted. "Too bad." I turned away from her then, and looked back the way he had walked.

He was already gone.

* * *

**AUTHOR TIME**

**I'm uploading this chapter at the same time as # 9. It's short, I know, but this one had a cool ending if I split it up from ch. 9... bear with me, people XD**

**I know this one was crappy...My writings seem to be deteriorating... Oh well... My home life hasn't been great recently. I don't get along with the people I live with... Anyway, critiques everyone!!! I LURVE COMMENTS!!!!!**


	10. Chapter 9: Get Over It

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 9_

"**Get Over It"**

* * *

The rest of the evening passed by quickly, like I was floating through a dream. When, almost two hours later, I found myself standing in an abandoned gym, crepe paper strewn over the floor in hasty swirls, it was as if someone had shaken me violently awake.

It was over.

I gathered my wits, wits that had been haphazardly slung on the winds of innocent euphoria, and stumbled out of the gym towards the theater building.

The cold whipped around me bare shoulders, a tempest. The numbing fingers of the wind touched me like I imagined a lover would, caressing and cool, though a lover that cold was no lover at all.

When I had reached the safety of the building and its cold-dampening walls, I unclasped my frozen arms from around myself, and breathed a weary sigh. I rubbed my shoulders to warm myself, and strode towards the dressing rooms.

Once inside, I quickly stripped out of the dress; hanging on the hangar carefully. I pulled on my uniform, then glanced at myself in the mirror.

My hair was hanging wind-tossed in my face, and my green-gold eyes seemed to gleam slightly through the mask I hadn't taken off yet.

_The red really does clash with my eyes.._. I thought. I began to contemplate what my colours were... I looked good in browns, blues, and greens... but my favorite was red, and, damn it all, it was one of the worst colours on me.

Wearily, I tugged on the ribbon securing the mask, letting it fall into my waiting hands. I slipped it into its vinyl case with care, making sure not to knock any of the ornamental pearls from their original positions. I had spent many long afternoons glueing them painstakingly into place, and wasn't about to go and ruin it now.

I adjusted my hair in the mirror one last time, then left the room, the bagged dress hanging over my shoulder like a cape. I pulled on my jacket as I left, then made my way towards Aeneid's office, where I hoped I'd find him.

* * *

I didn't have to look very far. He was sitting right outside the theater building, leaning against the sleek black car, legs and arms crossed. He looked up, blue eyes misted by his fogging breath, then walked over to me. He reached out and took my bag, then turned and stowed it in the back seat. He closed the door behind the dress, then, wordlessly, walked around to the driver's side.

I took shotgun, settling myself into my familiar seat. I turned to him as he coaxed the engine into life.

"How was your evening?"

He looked at me, taking his eyes off of the road for a moment before turning back.

"Fine. How was the masque?" I giggled at his use of arcane language, but quickly stifled it. _Be nice. _I reminded myself. "Dance with anyone?"

"No one in particular. I found Ami and Karen right away, though, and..." I proceeded to tell him about my evening, but left out the strange, armored figure, guessing that his reaction would either be one of incredulousness or one of admonishment for not getting the guy's name.

When I lapsed off into silence, his cobalt eyes flicked once again towards me. He spoke:

"Jira, there's something I've been meaning to ask you." I regarded him for a long moment, then:

"And?" I said. He drew in a breath.

"Your parents. Tell me about them."

I sat and stared at him for a long moment. Then, realizing I had been mute for almost two minutes, I spoke:

"Why do you need to know about them?" I chose my words carefully. His gaze flickered my way.

"I know a lot about you, Jira." He said. "And I've figured out more about your life than you would think." I sat up, a bit outraged, at this.

"Who–?" I began. He cut me off.

"Ms. Saxen and I are friendly." He explained. "She was happy to speak of her favorite student when I asked." I laughed for a moment at that.

"Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask." I said, quoting one of my favorite bands.

"Hn..." He said.

"What did she tell you?" I asked cautiously.

"This and that."

"...I'd like to know, Aeneid. Really."

He looked me square in the eye then.

"From what you yourself said that first day, and with the combined information I gleaned from Ms. Saxen and Principal Clark, quite a lot." He turned back to the dark, wet pavement. "I'd like to hear it all from you though."

I sat for a moment, in a quandary. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to talk about it at all. Period. But he was sitting there, waiting for me to answer, waiting for me to tell him my biggest... well, secret isn't the right word.

Against my better judgement, I told him anyway.

"A long time ago..." I began. "My parents got religion."

Aeneid snorted, and I glared.

"That's always how Grandma always started this!" I said indignantly. "When they got married, they converted. They decided to be missionaries."

"They settled in a small African village, total prehistoric place, I have no idea where. Then they had me." I stopped. The next parts were hard to say. Aeneid seemed to sense my distress though.

"It's okay." He said. "Please continue." His voice was soothing, and I soon relaxed.

"They gave me a tribal name, to show how they wanted to become a family to the natives." I said slowly. "But they were stupid. They named me 'blood related.'"

"This tribe... was superstitious. VERY superstitious. They believed that words, names in particular, were raw power. When I was named as a tribe-member, and as a relative, it was monumental. A new vessel for an old name: think of the possibilities!" I laughed then, though there was no humor in it.

"Mom and Dad... though they wanted to witness and all, they didn't want their child growing up like a 'savage,' as Grandma so quaintly put it." I leaned my forehead against the car window, then closed my eyes. "So they sent me back to America to live with Mom's mom." I opened my eyes then.

"Go on." Aeneid encouraged.

"These people, they valued names, remember? When mom and Dad sent me away, it was like stealing a brother or sister from the tribes-people, or rather, stealing a child from their gods." I sighed shakily. "With my leaving, I had taken a word of power."

"So they killed you parents."

My eyes snapped to Aeneid as colour rose in my cheeks.

"Thank you for so BLUNTLY putting it." I snarled. "Do you have any finesse at ALL?" It was his turn to flash his brightly-hued eyes.

"You wouldn't have said it. You would have dodged around it." He glared at the road. "Learn to admit it, Jira. You're going to have to tell this story your whole life!"

While I couldn't deny the truth in that statement (or in any of his assumptions, for that matter) I still bristled.

"It's a sensitive subject, okay?!"

"Get over it, Jira."

"I thought you said we were going to act civilly!"

"In this case, being blunt will do you more good than being civil!" he snapped. "Learn to cope with your past. Feeling guilty towards incidents beyond your control will do nothing but weigh you down with useless emotion."

"What do you know about any of that?" I asked angrily.

I instantly wished I hadn't.

He veered the car violently off the road to idle the thing on the side of it. He leaned over towards me, slamming a hand down onto the head-rest of my seat, while smacking the other on onto the dash right in front of me, his face only inches from mine. His blue eyes bored into me, dancing with cold, raging fire.

I cowered. He had never seemed this huge, this menacing, this dangerous--

or this beautiful.

Those pale cheeks and lips were set into a marble mask of anger so intense I would most likely have nightmares. His lips curled slightly.

"I know–" he said, voice perfectly even and controlled, though his emotions obviously were not. "– better than anyone alive what guilt feels like." He leaned even closer, mouth next to my ear, breath brushing over me and creating goose bumps on my arms and back.

"So. Get. Over. It."

He then violently pushed himself away from me, running fingers through his slicked back hair. Despite his attitude of supremacy, I noticed one thing:

His hands were shaking.

Badly, in fact. The car jerked awkwardly as we pulled back into gear, though it smoothed out in seconds.

_Looks like SOMEBODY isn't quite as 'over it' as they'd like to believe..._ I thought, still in shock at his outburst, fear still coursing though my veins.

* * *

We sat in silence the rest of the way home. I felt anger radiating off of him the entire way: it was in the way he worked the steering wheel, adjusted the mirror, shifted gears.

More than that though, I could feel the guilt.

It waved out away from him sharply, the tang of it permeating his rage.

_I wonder what he went through..._ I thought through my fear clouded mind.

When we reached my house, he spoke:

"Sessions resume today after tomorrow."

"Sunday." I confirmed.

"The door is unlocked." He said, eyes fixed on the car's hood. "Get your things."

I scrambled out of the car gratefully, then pulled open the back door. I leaned inside, nearly doubled over, then felt around in the dim interior for the hanging bag.

Once I found it, I unhooked it from it rack on the ceiling, then proceeded to drag it out of the car carefully. When it was about halfway out the door, I saw it.

The thing was sitting on the floorboards behind the driver's seat, innocently lying atop a stack of books. It's deep blue colour was even darker than the car's shadows; its horns created the illusion of a demon climbing out from under the seat.

On the floorboards lay the helmet of my masked knight.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**_CONTEST:_ I used a line from a certain song in this chapter:**

"Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask.**"**

**The first person to name the SONG TITLE, ALBUM, and ARTIST pertaining to this track gets a role in this fic (or the sequel I'm planning for it, dunno which yet). Send me the info for the song, and I'll announce the winner next chapter (or the one after that, if no one can find out). **

**HA HA HA aren't I evil? No? Thought so...**

**The armor I described is supposed to be similar to Nelo Angelo's, but blueish, rather than green.** **This chapter and #8 used to be one, but I decided to split them. 2 short-ish chapters rather than one LONG-ASS-CHAPTER is more appealing to me, anyhow...**

**JIRA and CO. belong to VIR M.**

**VERGIL belongs to CAPCOM**


	11. Chapter 10: Gift Givers

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 10:_

"**Gift Givers"**

* * *

I don't remember how I got inside.

All I know was that at one moment I was staring, shocked, at that oh-so-familiar helmet, and the next, I was indoors. I suppose I had somehow managed to murmur a goodbye or something, but I have no recollection of finding my key or getting the paper, which was now lying innocently at my feet. I suppose the shock had gotten to me, and blurred my field of thought until then.

My heart was pounding as I stood in the front hallway's dark interior, dress bag clutched tightly in my fists.

_It was HIM!_

I hung my dress up in the coat closet, then proceeded to slowly climb the stairs, glancing at my watch on the way up.

"Shit! It's two-fifteen!" I swore. My mood mellowed as I thought: _At least I don't have a session 'til Sunday..._

When I finally trudged into my room, I stripped down to my under-clothes, and fell into bed.

But I couldn't sleep.

_Shit... why me? Why does this always happen to ME? _I growled to myself. _Fucking insomnia on a night like THIS..._

I lay in bed for awhile, bored and twitching. I wanted to sleep, my eyes were burning from the lack of it, but I was wired.

VERY wired.

I sat up in bed impatiently, covers slipping away from my shoulders, exposing me to the cool air. The cold of the weather permeating the walls, and my room was decidedly chilly.

I was beyond caring though. I slung my feet over the edge of the bed, whipped the covers off myself, then stood, half-naked. I walked across the room to my bookshelf, grabbed a stool, stood on it, and selected the tall, thin, leather bound volume located on the highest shelf

I hopped off the height-maximizing structure, and shuffled back to my bed, book clutched to my chest.

I opened "The Legend of Sparda," propped it against my knees, and began to read.

The book was riveting no matter how many times I read it. It combined my love of fairy tales and occult with the magic of a historical text.

_I wonder who the author was..._ I thought for the billionth time. _I wish I could find another of his works... and I wish I could get this back to Aeneid somehow, despite how much I want to keep it... _I wanted to return the thing, but was unsure if I could REALLY let go of it. It was now one of my favorite books.

I had gotten to the part where Sparda had to sacrifice the human priestess when my eyes could no longer be denied the prospect of sleep. I set the book gently onto the floor, rolled onto my side, curled slightly, and was instantly asleep.

* * *

I didn't mention the helmet to Aeneid.

Weeks passed. The new, 'every-other-day' arrangement I had with Aeneid was close to perfect; I had ample time for Ami, Karen, Ms. Saxen, and the library, and still got to go home in a car rather than having to walk so far like I usually did.

Aeneid stuck to our bargain.He wasn't as confrontational or unfair as he had been, and didn't make it a point to pick on me during class_ quite_ as often.

Sticking to MY half, however, was proving to be difficult. He continued to try to dominate me, which I couldn't take. When he did, I would lash out, though not quite as violently as before. The end result of this was a tongue-lashing from Aeneid, though they, also, weren't as severe as previously, they still stung.

* * *

Months passed. Well, one and a half, actually. What did this mean to me, you ask?

Christmas was looming.

Every year, I, inevitably, forget about Christmas. Christmas for me has always been a severe reminder of my parents death, of their ever-present absence. Ami always left town to visit family, as did the other students, and I was left alone in the village. My aunts and uncles would occasionally send me, the forgotten one of the family, cards or something, but that was usually about it. I was used to the solitude.

This year however, it would be different.

I'd have company, however grudging they were. I wouldn't be alone for the first time in my life since fourth grade, when I still lived with my mother's mother.

I wouldn't be_ alone_.

Not that the prospect of spending the evening with Aeneid was setting my blood a-boil or anything. He would most likely be about as talkative as a rock, just like normal.

Two weeks before Christmas, I got a call from Ami:

"Want to go Christmas shopping?"

I mentally smacked myself on the forehead. I had totally forgotten! I naturally said yes; we ('we' meaning Ami, Karen, and myself) were to meet at my house the next Saturday, then call a cab to take us to the only near-by shopping mall: "Canary Central Community Mall."

The day dawned bright and clear, gray-blue sky cloudy and ugly-looking, air bitterly cold. When I answered the door for the girls, Karen's greeting was:

"Think it'll snow?"

"Probably later." I said. "Looks like white Christmas'll come early." I grinned at them, ushering them indoors. They took off their thick black over-coats and hung them in the hallway, then followed me up to my room while Ami called a cab from my personal phone-line. The cab would arrive in about fifteen minutes, so we had some time.

Karen, as this was her first time in my house, looked around as we entered my room, then headed over to my book-cases to check out my selection. After perusing through titles, she looked over my CD collection, commenting here and there on the assortment. Ami, familiar with the house, plopped down on my bed and began to leaf through a magazine she found lying on the floor. I sat in my swivel chair behind my desk, and made small talk with Karen about books and such, until the doorbell rang. We all got up as one and marched downstairs, shrugged into our jackets, and headed out to the cab.

* * *

The mall wasn't exactly packed, but it was rather crowded for a town like the size of Canary. The high-ceilinged, store-lined indoor avenues were filled with the bustle and murmur of holiday shoppers. The tiled interior was magnifying the clap of feet, jabber of voices, rustel of parcel-paper. Before entering any stores, however, Karen, Ami and I set up our plan of attack:

"Okay!" Ami began, taking charge. "Since we're going to be getting presents for one another as well as others, we might as well split up so we won't spoil our surprises." Karen and I nodded in agreement.

"We'll each take a wing of the mall: Karen gets the south wing, I get the north, and Jira the west. We'll meet back here at noon (in an hour and a half, guys), then switch wings. We clear?"

I saluted Ami:

"Sir yes sir!" Ami delivered her best glower to me while Karen mimicked my actions and barked a "Affirmative, Sarge!" She took our playful jibes with mock-anger, and then laughed. We all turned then, and went our separate ways.

The mall's west wing contained mostly specialty stores, ranging from shops that sold Dungeons&Dragons-esque games to shops that sold nothing but La-Z Boy chairs. I wandered aimlessly for awhile; there wasn't much that peaked my interest in this wing.

I poked my head into a "Unique Gifts," a promising looking boutique. It turned out to be a jewelry store specializing in uncommonly-styled accessories. I found Ami's present: a lovely crystal pendant on a gold chain, with a small miniature rose embedded in the center, reflected over and over in the crystal's diamond depths. Karen's present I chose at the small bookshop next door: a book about the process used to make books. It seemed to be something she would enjoy– informative, educational, yet kind of fun.

_I'll have to borrow it from her sometime_ I thought. _It looks rather good, actually... _

I wandered out of the store, bored. I still needed a gift for Sarita... but that was all. I didn't have any other friends... or at least close enough friends who merited gifts at all...

I passed the extra time in the bookstore, chatting with the owner about titles and authors. When the time came, I excused myself and headed back to the mall's entrance. I was a bit early, but nonetheless...

Karen was already there, three large shopping bags clutched in her arms.

"I'm not going to be able to carry all this." She said simply. "Got any ideas?" I looked appraisingly at her bags, then at the obvious lack of space mine occupied.

"I already got both you and Ami's junk, I just lack Sarita. I could take a bag off your hands." I offered. Karen breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're a lifesaver... I haven't found Sarita's yet as well..." She then handed me the second-largest of the bags. "That's Ami's in there. No peeking!" I assured her I wouldn't.

"You're here already?" I turned; Ami was striding towards us, blonde hair bouncing in shining waves down her back. Her eyes sparkled happily.

"You're going to love your presents!" She practically glowed. "I only have Sarita left... She's a hard one to shop for!"

Karen and I both agreed vehemently.

"Since none of us have Sarita's," I began. "How about we shop for something for her together? Y'know, help me out here, I'm a bad shopper..." I was, to call a spade a spade, horrible at it.

"That sounds good." said Karen. Ami nodded in agreement. "To the east wing!" We began to amble in the direction of the east wing when Karen said it:

"Jira?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to get Aeneid something?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I smacked myself on the forehead.

"SHIT!"

"Jira!" said a shocked Ami. "Language!"

"Sorry..." I grumbled. "But I had totally forgotten..." Ami sighed, hands on her hips.

"Are you sure you should even get him something in the first place?" she asked. "I mean, it might look a little weird, him being a teacher and all..." I though a moment, was about to agree, but then Karen spoke.

"He'll get you something, Jira." I looked at her quizzically. "He likes you too much not to." I blushed at that, I couldn't help it.

"He doesn't like me at all..." I mumbled.. "Hates me, more'n anything..." It was Karen's turn to sigh.

"He makes lame excuses to see you. Odds are, he probably sees you as a younger sister or something." She smiled. "He'll get you something good, of that I'm sure."

I breathed a sigh of relief at the 'younger sister' bit. Any other kind of 'like'... I couldn't even BEGIN to think like that...

"Karen's right, Jira; you need to find something for him!" Exclaimed Ami. "Got anything in mind?"

"Nothing." I said miserably. "I know he likes books and history, but that's about it... He likes swords, too, he's got one mounted in his office, but..." My eyes widened as it hit me.

"I'll meet you back here later, guys, okay?" I promptly wheeled around to face the east wing, and began to jog. I heard them shout for me to slow down, but I didn't, just kept running.

Eventually, I got there. The mall was sprawling, so it had taken me some time to make it back.

The outside of the shop I hadn't bothered to visit earlier had a simple, non-light-up wooden sign bearing the shop's name: "The Best Little Sword Shop In Town." Then in smaller letters, "Since 1955." It was, most likely, also the ONLY little sword shop in town I was amused to note; at least their confidence wasn't _totally_ conceited... I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The interior was almost the polar opposite of the mall outside. While the mall had been cold tile, the shop was filled with wood. Wood shelves, wood paneling, wood display cases. A bell above the door rang as I entered, and the shop keeper bustled out of the back room.

He was a balding, sixty-something man with tiny, frame-less glasses. He was holding a wickedly curved blade in one hand and was giving it a loving polish with the other.

Serial killer or mad scientist, anyone care to take a guess?

He stared at me for a moment as I entered, surprised. Then he chortled.

"Oh-HO!" He exclaimed. "A youngster!" He smiled, setting the scimitar down onto the counter with a loud clatter. "What can I do you for?" His easy manner was lovable, and I found myself at ease.

"I'm looking for a present." I said, smiling. "A good one."

"For whom?" He asked. I blanched, nonplused.

"Um..." I was debating between the word 'friend,' an aspect of me and Aeneid's relationship I hadn't yet contemplated, and 'teacher,' which seemed too formal, when the old man spoke.

"I have just the thing!"

I stared at him as he bustled into the back room again. Why had he even bothered to ask me a question if he wasn't going to wait for my answer? My wonderings were cut short as he came back into the room, settling himself down on a tall stool behind the counter. He was holding a large box and some sheets of paper under his arms.

"Here we are!" His chipper attitude was beginning to get old. He set the box down onto the counter-top with a PLUNK "These!"

The box was square; shallow but wide. It was filled with a glittering assortment of small ornamental daggers, sharpened blades glittering in the light.

"You can get them engraved, too!" He chirped. "As long as it is less than twenty-four characters long, including spaces." I took in his words, but didn't process them.

"That one." I said, pointing at one on the far right of the glass topped box.

"Oh," he breathed. "The katana. Wise choice."

The blade of the miniature was about seven inches long, all curved steel and sharp edge. The hilt was gold with blue cloth wrapped around it, and a gold dragon had been etched onto the blade itself. It was beautiful, and was, all except for the dragon worked onto the blade, a very nice, accurate replica of the sword mounted in Aeneid's office. With a start, I realized the shop keeper was addressing me:

"Will you have it engraved?" he was asking.

"Uh..." I stammered. "Yeah, I guess..."

"Don't know what to say?" The man supplied. I nodded.

"I suggest the recipient's name, and then your own initials on another line." His voice had turned shrewd. "The year, too, as a reminder." His smile was friendly again. "Fill out this sheet, a letter a box, and I'll do the work right now!"

I took the proffered sheet and pen, then began to fil it out.

Line one: V-E-R-G-I-L -space- R -period-space- A-E-N-E-I-D

Line two: J-period-space- L -period-

Line three: 2-0-0-6

I handed him the sheet as I finished. He glanced at it for a moment.

"I'll put line one, "Vergil R. Aeneid," on the base of the blade itself. Then I'll put lines two and three on the end of the hilt, on the exposed metal". He glanced up at me. "How does that sound to you?" I nodded.

"Sounds good." I said. He grinned at me, the force of the smile squeezing his small eyes shut.

"Jolly good. It will take about thirty minutes." He took the dagger from its case and turned away into the back room, then poked his head out again.

"There's a lovely café next door, in case you're interested. If not, wait right there, I won't be TOO long..." then he was gone.

* * *

When I left the café thirty minutes later, he was waiting for me behind the counter, still smiling, dagger boxed and secured with a pretty blue silk ribbon. He ushered me over to the register, where I exchanged my money for Aeneid's gift. I left, waving, bombarded by his 'come again's,' and headed back to me, Ami, and Karen's rendevous point.

They were there when I arrived, peeved at my disappearance. They had went ahead and bought Sarita's gifts, and were thoughtful enough to buy me one for Sarita as well: an iPOD accessory of some sort. I paid them back, then we called the cab.

* * *

Christmas Eve was in four days, and just happened to fall on a session day. Naturally, I was nervous.

School had let out for holiday the day before, and I had delivered all the presents... save one.

Ami had adored her pendant, like I knew she would. Little baubles like that always seemed to brighten her day, don't ask me why. Karen had enjoyed her book just the way I thought she would: educational yet amusing. Sarita was also enjoying the iPOD skin Ami and Karen had picked out for her, flashing the jeweled, pink thing everywhere she went, flaunting it like a status symbol.

My gifts were equally gratifying: a new watch from Ami, and the book 'Cooking for Dummies' from Karen (which I was badly in need of, given the abysmal state of my food preparation skills). Sarita hadn't bothered getting presents for anyone. It was okay though; knowing her, she would've gotten me some useless gift-card I would never have used. I preferred practicality over useless baggage any day, thank you very much.

Aeneid's gift sat on my bedside, packed into that white box and blue ribbon, untouched.

Untouched, that is, until the day I gave it to him.

* * *

**

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AUTHOR TIME**

**At this point in the chapter, I had taken up 15 pages in a word-document, so I decide to split the chapter in half. Aren't I evil?**

**The winner of my little contest ( see previous chapter) was PUNKROCKER05. She gets a role in the story now, though not a huge one or anything. Small but important, is all I have to say... won't be around for awhile though, so no breath-holding, people!!**

**Here's some interesting stuff about this fic:**

**THIS chapter, Chapter Ten, has the most words, with 3176 words. The Prologue has the most views/hits, with 189 views/hits (The fic, as a whole, has 831 hits). Chapter Six has the most comments, with 5 comments (lets make this one have the most comments, people! Comment NOW! You know you wanna...).**

**I'd like to extend feelings of utmost gratitude towards my reviewers:**

**BlackLadyCharon, Vynenight, Punkrocker05, Evil Kuro Neko, Chrome, xCrazyCorduroyX, & Kisara Krystal**

**I love you guys!!!! Hit me with some more comments, I love hearing from you all!!!!!**

**JIRA belongs to VIR M.**

**VERGIL & DMC to CAPCOM**

**EDIT: I turned off the "No Comments From Anonymous Reviewers" thing. No anybody can comment, anytime they want! Thanks to Chrome for informing me about that setting! You rock!**


	12. Chapter 11: Smile

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 11:_

"**Smile"**

* * *

I check to make sure the boxed up dagger, tied with that deep blue ribbon, was still safely tucked into my bag one last time before pushing open his office door. My heart pounded against my rib cage sporadically as I rested my hand on the cool oak of the doorframe. The gold plate set into the wood gleamed in the hall's half-light, gleamed like a watching eye. 

All day I had been jumpy and snappish, which wouldn't have seemed that abnormal, except that the usual rate at which blew up in people's faces seemed to be multiplied by twelve. Not a pretty sight, to say the least.

Nevertheless, I had somehow made it through the day, and now here I was, about to (well, probably about to) commit the most embarrassing act of my young life. A willing act, but I digress. I was here to not only to report to my session, but deliver Aeneid his gift, as well as FINALLY return his blasted book, "The Legend Of Sparda."

Steeling myself, I pushed open the door.

He was sitting behind his mahogany desk and was, as always, regarding me over the top of his laced-together fingers as I entered.

"Hello..." I said nervously. _Does he HAVE to stare like that? _He quirked a neon eyebrow at me as I sat down in my familiar seat and settled my school-bag in my lap.

"Is something wrong?"

I jumped at that. _Damn him and his perceptiveness! _I thought darkly.

"I'm just peachy, why?" I snapped. He smirked.

"Not _that's_ more like you." His eyes glittered brightly. "How are you this evening?"

I stared at him suspiciously. He didn't normally begin our sessions in this friendly manner.

_He's up to something. _My cynical side said._ Be on your guard, Jira_. I smiled mechanically.

"Oh, fine." My voice echoed an off-handed tone. "How about you?" He smiled a bit at that.

"My, aren't we polite?" That stung, and I bristled.

"This is me being 'civil,' and you should _very well_ know it by now." I looked away from him to glance around the room.

His office was like it always was, books, lamps, sword. The helmet he had worn on Halloween was sitting on the mantel as usual, seemingly taunting me. Suddenly, I felt like my blood was on fire. The wickedest idea popped into my head and before I could think it through, I spoke:

"That helmet would sure make a _great_ Halloween costume!" I blurted, still not looking at him.

In my mind, I was mentally beating myself over the head with a very large stick, a stick labeled "IDIOT WHACKER." _You're so stupid!_ My brain screamed at me. I tore my eyes away from the helmet.

His face was impassive as he looked at me with those cobalt eyes. He slowly, deliberately, turned his head to monitor the helmet, then he turned back to me, staring over the top of his laced-together fingers.

"It would, now that you mention it." He said softly.

Then he abruptly stood, pushing himself away from his desk, and walked over to one of the large filing cabinets behind him. He reached a hand slowly into one of his pockets and pulled out a ring of keys. He fiddled with the ring for a moment until he found the key he was looking for, then inserted it into the lock on the middle drawer of the structure. He turned it deftly, then opened the drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a thin, white, eight-inch long box. He set it on the desk behind him, locked the cabinet back up, and turned to me.

"Merry Christmas." He said softly. "Open it."

I stared at him for a long moment, mind blank. Then I looked at the box, then back at him. I blinked several times.

"What?" I asked. His blank look softened slightly.

"It is Christmas, isn't it? That's your present."

I numbly reached for the package, wrapped in plain white paper and secured with a tiny black bow, heart hammering in my chest. The package was neatly, meticulously wrapped. I tugged gently on the ribbon; it fell away easily. I hooked one of my nails under the section of tape securing one of the ends and pulled. The flap it had help popped up with a -SNICK-, and the box slid easily out of its wrapping.

The box itself was deep blue velvet, and was obviously a jewelry box. It had hinges on one side and a minute clasp on the other. I looked up at Aeneid as I flicked away the tiny catch.

He wasn't watching my hands, but my face. His expression was slightly hungry, it seemed to drink me in as I sat there. His eyes were glittering, their sparkle dark yet happy. His eyes caught mine as I stole that glance, and held my gaze captive for a long moment, his features smoothing over into that expressionless look they normally assumed.

Though his eyes retained that glimmer.

He nodded slowly at me, and I flicked the box open.

Then the breath caught in my throat, and I gasped.

It was a pendant, hung on a fine gold chain, nestled into a strip of soft, shining blue velvet. The pendant itself was a smooth, shining tear-drop of crystal, unfaceted, glassy, and delicate. The core of it was hollow, and rolling about in the center of the inch-high droplet was–

"It's a pearl." Aeneid said, clearing his throat. "And dandelion down."

I looked up at him as I lifted the necklace from its midnight nest and held it in my fist, gold chain spilling out either side. I met his eyes, my heart hammering.

"It's lovely." I whispered.

"Do you like it?" He asked, face concerned. "I didn't know if–"

"I love it." I said, and for once it was me who did the cutting-off. "It's beautiful." My eyes met his:

"Thank you, Aeneid."

He pinned me with a look.

"You're welcome, Jira."

Suddenly, I remembered. I clutched the bauble in one hand, then hefted my school bag into my lap. I unclasped the buckles holding it closed, reached into its depths with one hand, then picked up "The Legend Of Sparda."

"Here." I said, holding our the book. "I accidentally took it home a while back..."

He stared at me for a moment, then chuckled.

"Did you read it?" I nodded at him, still holding the book. He continued.

"Did you like it?" I gave him another nod, arm beginning to ache. _Take the book, dammit! _I thought.

"It's yours." My eyes snapped wide.

"What?" I managed to choke out. His deep chuckle filled the room.

"I can always make another one."

"You mean..." Then his implication struck me. "You WROTE this?!" He laughed again at my surprise.

"And illustrated it, yes." His face sobered. "My... mother used to tell me that legend. I felt it needed to be written." His gaze locked with mine again. "I'd like you to have it. And please, don't argue with me on this. Just do it."

I did as he bid, just re-stowed the book in my bag.

"You're a good writer..." I mumbled. "And a really good artist, too."

"Thank you." He said quietly, still standing behind his chair.

To cover the blush that had ridden up in my cheeks, I began to rummage around in my bag until I located his gift. I picked up his present in one hand, held it for a moment, braced myself, then drew it out of my bag and into his field of vision.

"My turn." I said. "Merry Christmas, Aeneid." I held the package out to him, insides trembling.

His look was a mixed one, consisting of shock and slight amazement. He held out a hand wordlessly, and lowered himself into his seat as I handed over the proffered gift. He took it gently from my fingertips.

He held the box in his hand for a long moment, staring at it. Then he gave the blue ribbon a hard tug, drew it away from the box with deft fingers, then tucked the midnight-blue silk stip into the breast-pocket of his black jacket. He lifted the lid off of the box, and slowly, very slowly, removed the dagger from its resting place.

The blade shone brightly in the dim light, glinting with hard steel, golden dragon seeming to twist sinuously along the length of the blade. His eyes were trained on its sharp edge, taking in every detail, turning it this way and that, eyes narrowed in concentration. He eventually let his eyes drift towards the long sword above the fire place, a sword I know knew was called a 'katana.' Then he spoke.

"A replica of Yamato..."

"Yamato?" I asked, confused. "I thought that sword was a katana."

"It is." He said slowly. "But that sword in particular is... a rarity, and its name is Yamato." He looked at me for a moment. "You are a very thoughtful person, Jira, to remember my tastes like this." I shrugged.

"You like swords, and when I saw that, I remembered that one." I said, gesturing my free hand at the mounted one. "It just clicked, I guess..." I gave a sheepish smile.

"It's engraved." He then said, noticing the words. "My name..." His fingers traced the letters etched onto the blade, letters inscribed in a flowing, calligraphic script.

"My initials are on the hilt somewhere." I offered. "The year, too. Y'know, as a memento and all..." I trailed off, looking at the floor. My head then snapped up as he said my name.

"Jira." he was saying, eyes boring into mine. I met his gaze levelly, and he spoke again. "Thank you."

Then he smiled.

His smile was slight, very slight, but it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, vague, but undeniably present. It lit up his features like a searchlight; his face turned into something beautiful and secret. When I had angered him that one time on the car ride home, I had thought him beautiful. A mesmerizing dragon, all glittering scales and wings, but with needle teeth and claws, who would lash out and eviscerate you if you got to close, deadly, but something you were unable to keep yourself from longing for. Now, however, he looked utterly approachable; kind, and caring, willing to listen. My heart began to pound, to beat wildly against my constraining ribs; I felt like my soul would burst with the happiness that began to course through me.

Then, all too quickly, that small, small smile faded.

To cover my disappointment and encroaching sadness, I loosened the fist holding the necklace, found the clasp, flicked it open, and slipped the necklace around my neck. The bauble lay nestled in the hollow at the base of my throat, just barely showing through the slit in my collar, winking out at the world like a pearl in an oyster; secret and precious. I lifted my head to look at him.

His gaze was cool, yet somehow personal and comforting.

"It looks beautiful on you, Jira."

* * *

**

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AUTHOR TIME **

**MWA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!! How'd'you like me now!?**

**Well, guys, how's life? This chapter seems rather forced to me, but whatever. I still rather like it.**

**I edited and revised a few chapters (so far the 2 prior to this one). I fixed the spelling and punctuation errors to the best of my ability, but I still need to do more. Just thought I'd let you all know.**

**I'm updating rather quickly...weird. I thought it would take awhile... but I was itching to write this chapter, so... it's rather short, I'm sorry...**

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**JIRA & CO. Copyright VIR M.**

**VERGIL & DMC copyright CAPCOM**


	13. Chapter 12: SnowBound

By Blood Connected

A Fanfiction by Vir M.

Chapter 12:

"Snow Bound"

* * *

"I told you so."

"...shut up..."

Karen had been right, and, being as such, she allowed no chance to remind me of that fact slip by without making the most of it.

I sat quietly on the window sill in my room, staring out at the snow-covered ground through the misty pane. My fingers were clasped around the pendant resting on my collarbone, hearing the high, glassy TINK of the pearl as it hit the sides of its crystal prison as I rotated the small thing in my hand. The sound was slightly muffled by the dandelion, but distinct in the still room.

"Well, I did."

"I know."

"Can I look at it again?"

I sighed, then slipped the necklace off over my head and handed the thing to Karen --who was currently sitting cross legged on the floor--, holding it by the chain so that the bauble itself could be lowered into her waiting, upraised palm.

Ami and Karen were spending the last day of winter break at my house. They had both left to visit family for the holiday, and my only company had been Aeneid.

My relationship with Aeneid had shifted since Christmas Eve. We were no longer at war, though we still argued (I was incapable of refraining from doing so, what with my temper) but it was over actual, debatable topics rather than senseless squabbling. I still defied him at every turn, but our mutual manner was one of easy-going contentment and understanding.

In short, he was becoming --what I considered to be, anyway-- a friend.

"God, this thing is gorgeous." Karen said for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"Mm-hmm." I agreed. Ami then reached over from her perch on my bed and lifted the necklace from Karen's hand. She held it up to the light by the chain, letting swing back and forth in front of her face like a hypnotist's pendulum.

"I wonder where he got it..." She murmured. "It's rather exotic, what with the flower stuff and all."

"Dandelion." I said sharply, correcting her. "It's dandelion." She handed the necklace back to me, shrugging.

"It's still a flower."

"If the crystal cracks, will they start to rot?" Mused Karen. My brow furrowed at that.

"I dunno..." I said. "Better not to find out, eh?" We all laughed at that as I held the shining trinket up to the light once more.

The crystal was pure, uncut and completely smooth. It looked like glass, but I somehow got the impression that it was much less breakable. The dandelion down was pure, fleecy white, and floated through the thing as if carried on a tiny wind. The small seedlings were never still, always floating in the pendant's cavity or caught under and cushioning the pearl. The pearl itself was also beautiful; large, luminescent, and lustrous. The light made the floating spores gleam like snow, and made the pearl shine like a tiny, bottled up moon. The bauble was the second most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the second-best gift I had ever received.

Aeneid's small smile, as brief as it had been, took first place in both of those categories.

I pulled it back over my head, hardly listening to Ami and Karen as they spoke to one another, and began to finger the fine gold chain once more.

* * *

The first day of the new term dawned bright and clear. The sky was pure, winter blue: no hint of snow whatsoever, despite the thick layer of it on the ground.

I groaned as I surveyed the powdery, untouched stuff through my kitchen window, hands fiddling with my pendant.

_It must be four-freaking-feet-deep!_ I thought._ Just how the heck am I going to get to school in all this–?_

I padded to the front of the house, dressed in my school uniform and a pair of thick socks, and wrenched open the heavy oak door. I gasped as a about a quart of snow fell to the floor at my feet with a slushy THWUMP:

There was a huge snow-drift piled right outside the door, stretching up vertically almost five feet; there was a depression from where it had built up around the door knob, but otherwise it was completely smooth. The door itself was about seven feet tall, and, due to my height, I could only _just_ glimpse a rectangle of innocent looking blue sky through the gap.

"DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!!!!" I all but screamed. I quickly ran to the laundry room to grab a broom and a dustpan. "I can't even get out of my _house_, much less get to _school_ in all this!"

I began to vigorously sweep up the snow.

"Stu... pid... fuck... ing... snow... had... to... come... to... day..." I punctuated each vicious jab of my broom with a syllable, attempting to voice my frustration aloud. "Just... had... to... go... and... block... my... mo... ther...fu–"

"Watch your language, Jira, you--"

"HOLY SHIT!"

I gave an earsplitting shriek and felt the dustpan go flying out of my hands as I scrambled backwards over the wooden floor. I collided with a table and knocked the resting lamp onto the ground, though thankfully nothing broke. I whipped my head about wildly, trying to pinpoint the owner of the voice's location, but saw no one. I rose to my knees, turning around to glance into the living room and adjoining hallway, heart about to burst, adrenaline coursing through me. Finding no one present, I felt my features slide into a confused mask when–

"Up here, nitwit."

I nearly broke my neck from the force I used to whip my head around.

Aeneid was standing outside on the snowdrift, hunching down to peer in at me through the gap in the door, one hand propped lazily on a knee, the other bracing himself on the door's frame. He quirked an eyebrow at me as my jaw dropped.

"Boo."

I snapped my mouth shut with a clack and scrambled to my feet.

"Dude– Don't EVER do that again!" I yelled, pointing at him with murderous intent, heart rate only just beginning to ease up as relief flooded me. Despite the relief, I felt anger rise. "I nearly had a heart attack, you big jerk!" I spun around on my heel, uttering a strangled sound of frustration and anger that was an indistinguishable mix between a snarl and a growl. I picked up the dustpan and set the lamp back on its stand.

"Snow on my wall-paper..." I grumbled, observing the large wet spot that was currently beginning to drip. "Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it." I turned as he said it, then watched him gracefully lever himself through the narrow, un-blocked gap. He landed in a crouch on the wood floor, then slowly straightened, somehow making the action look regal. "I thought you might need a ride." I blanched, struck momentarily dumb by both his fluid, acrobatic entrance and that painfully obvious statement.

"No shit, Sherlock." I said sarcastically as soon as I could talk again. His eyes narrowed.

"Language, young lady. As in 'watch it,' to take a linguistic leaf out of your book." He brushed a bit of snow off one shoulder absently. He was wearing gloves, I noticed: nice, fitted black leather gloves that molded themselves perfectly to his large, square-palmed hands. They complimented his black jacket nicely. "Where do you keep the brooms, perchance?"

"Er..." I mumbled. "Wait here a minute..." I promptly dashed into the kitchen, then into the laundry room proper. I opened a supply cupboard hastily, allowing the double-wooden-doors to hit the wall behind then with a bang, then rummaged around until I located another broom and dustpan. I turned around, clutching them in my hands, and dashed back out into the kitchen–

–to nearly smack into Aeneid's broad torso.

I skidded to a stop about eight inches away from him.

"Watch it!" I barked, shoving the things at him and away from me as if they had done me a mortal injustice. "I thought I'd told you to wait out there!" I backed up a pace as he gently removed the broom from my grip and shrugged.

"Thought I'd help." Then he glanced around the kitchen for a moment, peering over my head (_Damn my height..._I thought darkly.) as if I wasn't there. "Clean, isn't it?" He looked back at me. "The kitchen, I mean."

"Yeah, yeah..." I muttered, striding past him. "Let's clean up the snow now, shall we?" I didn't wait for an answer, just walked out. I didn't hear him follow, but when I turned around to call for him, he was standing right behind me. I decided not to comment and made my back to the front hallway.

He overtook me as we walked, then closed the front door ahead of me against the cold, and began to sweep the excess snow into a pile. He looked so absurd wielding that household object I began to giggle as I swept his pile into my dustpan.

"What's so funny?" He asked. I glanced up at him; he looked slightly amused yet confused, the expression looking rather out of place on his refined features.

"Oh, nothing." I said brightly. "Y'know... just the high n' mighty, Yamato weildin' Aeneid brandishing a broom, is all..." I grinned up at him, then straightened. I turned away and began to whistle nonchalantly as I carried the snow into the kitchen on my dustpan. I then deposited it in the sink so it could melt without damage to the house or floors. "Just struck me as funny..." I murmured.

"Indeed."

I jumped; I had thought I'd left him standing in the foyer, but here he was, leaning against the wall behind me as if he'd been there since last Tuesday. He pushed himself upright as I looked at him.

"Get your things." He whirled around and made his way back to the front door, while I dashed into the laundry room for my shoes and heavy winter coat. I all but ran to the front door, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Aeneid–?" I began to call, but then I caught sight of his shoes standing atop the huge drift. He bent and stared.

"Drag over a chair, and then I'll pull you out." I did as he said. I stood on the thing, then took his proffered hands as my stockinged knees scrambled for traction on the smooth wall of snow. He levered me out effortlessly; I practically flew out the door. I landed partially against his chest, and partially in the snow, blush rising in my cheeks as I felt his arms slip around my shoulders to support me.

"Thanks." I muttered, not looking at him. "But how will we shut the door–?" I glanced back to look at it, but, somehow, it was already shut. Aeneid was still gripping my upper-arms in his gloved fingers, his touch gentle yet firm. He let go after a long moment, and I raised my head to meet his eyes.

His look was blank, face set in a careful neutral, though his eyes had once more began to glitter strangely.

"I'll help you shovel all this away later, Jira." His voice cut through the cold like knife as his breath frosted in the air. "Now, however, it's time for school."

"Yeah." I agreed. I broke our stare and wheeled about to face the car. I let myself into the chilly interior and sat in my usual space, then, all at once, realized I was cold.

Freezing in fact.

I held my arms close to me as Aeneid slid sinuously into the driver's side and let the engine purr into life.

"Crank the heat." I said through chattering teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. I heard a rustle, then a click as a button was pressed. Heat roared out of the vents-- blessed heat that thawed my frozen fingers. I opened my eyes.

Aeneid was backing the car out with one hand, and the other held loosely onto his jacket, which he had taken off and was now offering to me. I stared at it for a moment, then looked at him.

"Take it." He said slowly. "I'm not cold."

"Not cold?" I repeated. "How can you not be cold in THIS weather?" I didn't wait for his answer, but took the jacket anyway. I slipped my arms into the sleeves, wearing the jacket on my front, rather than putting it fully on. I snuggled into the still warm article cozily... then I looked at Aeneid and my eyes snapped open to mimic the shape and size of small dishes.

"Holy Cabo-San-Lucas!"

He jerked his head around to look at me, his face all at once incredulous, confused, and puzzled.

"What the hell do you do on the weekends?" I asked, still shocked.

"What are you babbling about, Jira?" He asked, still confused. "Cabo San Lucas..." He gave a dry, patronizing chuckle and shook his head.

"Well look at you!" I choked out. "Do you, I dunno, lift weights for hours on end or something?" Indeed, his arms were practically straining through his nice, button-down black shirt. They were the long, wiry kind of muscles, but were nonetheless pronounced and strong. "You're about to bust a seam!" He shifted uncomfortably, for once becoming a little less than composed.

"I coach the fencing team, remember?" He asked, eyes fixed on the snow-flecked tarmac. "That adds up, over time." I scoffed.

"Oh please, I've seen the fencing guys, they don't look like THAT!" I pointed at his biceps in demonstration. "Sarita would blow a gasket..."

"What?" He asked sharply, turning to me again.

"Well, _duh_!" I said, rolling my eyes. "Almost every girl in the freaking school's got a _monster_ crush on you." Seeing his shocked face, I continued: "And don't give me that look, you know it's true."

"Hmph." He said. "Children..." He growled low in his throat.

"'Children?'" I repeated. "I'm their age, too, buster!"

"I don't mean _you_." He snapped, suddenly furious, eyes glowing with cold rage. "Student's behaving in that respect towards a figure of authority is unacceptable." He was silent for a moment, then his grip tightened on the steering wheel as he reiterated: "Unacceptable." I looked at him for a moment before turning to stare out the window. We were pulling into the school gates now.

"Here's your stop." He said, braking. We were parked in front of the Foreign Language building. "I'll see you after school."

"Yeah." I said. "A-Day means session day. Routine, routine." I flashed him a smile. "Cheerio."

I let myself out of the car and shut the door behind me, remembered the jacket, and quickly knocked on the glass before he pulled the idling vehicle away. The window rolled down to reveal a bored looking Aeneid.

"What?"

"You're jacket, A." I said, shortening his name to a letter. I handed it to him through the window. "Meet you back here at three?"

"Of course." He said, taking the coat as I withdrew my arm. "Don't be late." He pulled smoothly away from the drive, and I made my way to my first class.

**

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**

AUTHOR TIME

**Okay, okay I know this chapter seems totally and completely random and unneeded, but TRUST ME, it's vital. Just deal with it, kay?**

**God guys, have I ever told you just how much you all rock? Seriously! Ya'll are INSANE!!!!! The story, as of this moment... has 1000 hits. Yes, 1000 EXACTLY. Wild, huh? I never thought I'd get this much... THANK YOU!**

**Evil Kuro Neko said in a review that this isn't a "Love at first sight" fic... and I'm glad it gives that impression. I, personally, do not believe in love at first sight, so I always will try to stay away from that element. Love to me is a gradual thing, based on trust, not on looks and first impressions.**

**Thanks again to all my reviewers, and have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**

**JIRA belongs to VIR M.**

**VERGIL and DMC belong to CAPCOM**


	14. Chapter 13: Goodbye

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 13:_

"**Goodbye"**

**

* * *

**

I walked to French slowly, feet on auto-pilot. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular, just felt myself become lost in the stillness as the flat rubber heels of my converse made smacking sounds against the hard wood flooring. I pushed open the door to Madame Faust's classroom and stepped inside.

The cheerful interior was occupied by only three people: Madame Faust, a senior I wasn't familiar with, and Ami. I headed over in Ami's general direction.

"Hey." I said, lowering myself into a desk next to her. She jumped.

"Oh, hi Jira!" She looked rather nervous.

"What's up?" I asked, concerned. She slumped forward in her seat.

"Mom wants to pull me out of school."

"What?!"

"I know, I know!" She cried, burying her face in her hands. "That Slasher maniac everyone's talking about– he's killed thirteen people! The police– they're clueless! She doesn't think its safe for me here anymore!" Her shoulders began to tremble with the force of her pent-up desperation. I launched upwards out of my seat and slipped my arms around her.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay." I said, attempting to comfort her. "You're not goin' anywhere, alright?"

"Oh, Jira..." she said brokenly, then began to sob. "She wants me to withdraw at the end of this semester!"

The bell rang, signaling the start of classes. Madame Faust walked over to us as student's streamed into the room.

"Is everything all right here?" She asked in her pretty, accented voice.

"Family trouble." I said over Ami's blonde head. "Would you mind if she and I sat in the hallway for a little while... at least until she calms down?"

"Go right ahead, you two." She said, concerned. "Should I call anyone...?" She looked uncertain.

"We'll be fine." I said assuredly, then lead Ami from the classroom.

It took her awhile to calm herself. When she was sufficiently in control of her emotions, I got her to explain the entire situation to me: her mother, concerned by the recent rash of killings, was going to pull Ami out of J L Tyler's come spring. Naturally, I was pissed.

"She can't do that!" I raged, eyes on fire. "It's TOTALLY not fair!"

"I know, Jira." Ami said miserably, knees pulled to her chest as if she was hiding behind them. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't you dare apologize." I snapped. "It isn't your fault." I glared up at the ceiling.

"I can probably talk her out of it." She said, though half-heartedly. "I usually can."

I ran my fingers through my bangs, fluffing them into messy waves. I then shook my head from side to side to clear them from my eyes. "You're right about that, at least." I grumbled. "I just pray you can. I couldn't survive without you, Ami."

Then the bell rang.

"Shit!" I swore. "We were out here all class!" Ami slumped again.

"I'm so sorry, Jira, I–"

"Don't wanna hear it." I said simply. "I got out of class, didn't I?" She managed a hesitant smile as I helped her to her feet.

"That's just like you..."

* * *

We got our bags out of the classroom and headed off to our shared computer science course, blending in with the rest of the students as they milled about the hallways. We had to yell over the veritable roar of sound produced by our peers. 

"What do Karen's parents think about the whole Slasher thing?" I yelled.

"I'm not sure." Ami said loudly, though I could still barely hear her despite her rising volume. "I only got the call from mom late last night, and I haven't seen Karen yet today."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "I woulda thought–"

I suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, despite the oncoming stream of students.

I suddenly felt trapped, trapped yet somehow exposed, feeling nothing but the animalistic sensation of utter--

_Fear!_

I was all at once afraid, though of what I couldn't say. Terror crashed down on me, sudden and undeniable, washing over me in a sickening wave. The skin on the back of my hands and neck began to crawl as the eeriest feeling of dread stole over my psyche. I fell to my knees in the middle of that crowded corridor, head swimming, vision blurred, breath coming in hard, short gasps as the terror took hold.

_There is no logical reason for me to feel this way_. I thought as I felt the cold wooden flooring beneath my cold, sweating palms. _No reason whatsoever_. This sudden, complete and total fear that erupted so unexpectedly had come from nowhere, and there was nothing here to be afraid of.

But afraid I was, and there was no way to get around that, no matter how illogical the statement seemed. Logic had nothing to do with it. I was dimly conscious of Ami hovering worriedly around me as a gap shifted in the large crowd, leaving me alone and untouched in the center of the walkway. My mind was completely devoid of everything except the fear as I fell forward onto the cold, wood floor.

* * *

When I awoke, I was lying on my back in the infirmary, staring up into the anxious faces of the head nurse (whose name I did not know), Ami, Karen, and a set of harsh fluorescent lights. 

"Jira?" Ami whispered, voice frightened. "Are you okay?"

I sat up with a groan, bringing a hand to my head.

"What...?" I mumbled. The nurse promptly bustled over and forced me back into a prone position.

"Don't get up." She said, voice clear and authoritative. "You've been out for nearly an hour."

"An hour..." I repeated, settling back into the pillows. "Did I...?" Then I remembered: the noisy hallway, the press of the student body, the animalistic, mind numbing fear. "Oh, God..."

"Shh." Ami murmured comfortingly. Karen looked at me gravely.

"What happened, Jira?" Her voice was set, I could tell she wouldn't let up until she found an answer.

I glanced around to make sure no one would over hear, then motioned for Ami and Karen to pull the privacy-curtains surrounding my bed around us to prevent an eavesdroppers from having easy access.

"Well..." I began. I then filled them on what I remembered: the sensation of being trapped yet utterly exposed, the pound of the adrenaline commanding me to flee, the rush of nauseating terror. They listened wide-eyed. When I finished, Karen let out a long, low whistle.

"It sounds like–" She began, but then fell silent as we heard the commotion coming from the infirmary's entrance.

There was first the bang of a door being violently thrown open, the stomp of heavy feet, then the sounds of the nurse's cries of indignation.

"You can't just–!" I heard the head exclaim as the curtains surrounding us were wrenched apart.

It was Aeneid.

He was standing stock still, feet apart, leather-gloved hands fisted tightly in the curtains, eyes wild. When his gaze fell on me, he hurriedly released the curtains and in a flash was standing over my bed, next to Ami. The nurse was standing behind him, obviously furious.

"Only two visitors at a time!" She seethed. "Even if you ARE a teacher!" Aeneid glanced back at the raging nurse, then spoke:

"Can she walk?" The nurse looked taken aback.

"What–?"

"I said: 'Can she walk?'" Aeneid's glare was cold, and the nurse practically cowered.

"I-it's advisable that she doesn't for the time being, but--" Aeneid silenced her with a look.

"Thank you, ma'am." He then turned back to me.

It happened in about a span of three seconds: Aeneid slipped one arm behind my knees and the other behind my back, then lifted me off of the sick bed in one fluid motion. I didn't realize what was happening until we were half-way to the door.

"PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!" I did my best to glare up at him, and attempted to wriggle out of his hold. He simply held onto me tighter, crushing me into his chest. I could practically feel him grit his teeth and scowl.

"No." His voice was completely flat. Then the nurse spoke up:

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?!" Though I couldn't see her from my position, I could almost feel her radiating anger. "You can't just–"

"I'm taking her home." Aeneid snapped impatiently, pausing at the hospital wing's entrance. "You said it yourself: she can't walk, so I'm carrying her." He glared at her, and, judging by the timbre of her voice when she spoke her next words, seemed to wilt.

"Make sure she says inactive." She said, defeated. "And get's plenty of bed rest, as well as a solid, square meal."

"I will." He said, nodding. Then he walked out, carrying me with him in those amazingly strong arms.

As soon as we were out in the hallway, I began to yell at him: a steady stream of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Uncharacteristically, he made no comment on my use of coarse language.

* * *

We were halfway down the corridor when I heard two sets of footsteps running down the hallway towards us. I tried to crane my head over Aeneid's broad shoulder to see who they belonged to, but he must have though I was trying make another escape attempt because he latched on to me more tightly than ever. 

"Jira!" I looked up at Aeneid as Ami's familiar voice drifted towards us.

"Lemme talk to Ami!" I all but bellowed. He gave me a sharp, biting look.

"Fine!" He growled, then stood me on my feet, though he did not relinquish his vice-like grip on my upper arms. "One minute, then I'm getting you home."

By this point, Ami and Karen had caught up to us.

"Jira!" Ami panted. "What about your school books?"

"We'll go get them!" Gasped an equally winded Karen. "Meet us at the gates in ten minutes!" I looked to Aeneid for permission.

"Fine." He eventually grumbled. "Go get them. We'll be waiting." He promptly swept me back up into his arms. "Ten minutes!" He called over his shoulder at them as his long stride ate up ground. I didn't say another word until he set me down again, this time on a bench right outside the building.

"Wait here." He ordered, then whirled and jogged quickly away. I watched his retreating back for a moment, then leaned my head into my hands and closed my eyes. When I opened them again about one minute later, the sleek black car was idling in front of me, and Aeneid was stepping out of the driver's door. He approached me, then gently lifted me and placed me in the back seat of the car with surprising carefulness. I offered no resistance this time, and I could almost feel his tangible surprise. He shut the back door behind me, then got into the car and drove it towards the gate.

Ami and Karen were already there, clutching my things. Aeneid jumped out of the car, walked around to my side, opened my door, and stood back. I tried to get out, but he reached a hand inside to stop me, so I just sat as Ami and Karen handed me my things.

"Guys." I said. "Thanks." They grinned at me.

"Don't sweat it!" Said Ami cheerfully.

"Seriously." Karen added. "Just concentrate on feeling better, okay?"

I took in the sight of their smiling faces sadly, suddenly struck by the strongest sense of foreboding.

"Guys," I rasped. "Gimme a hug."

Ami and Karen looked at me for a moment.

"Are you okay?" Ami asked, not moving. Karen looked similarly concerned.

"I'm... fine." I said hesitantly. "Just... I dunno... somebody just walked over my grave, is all.." I looked up at them sheepishly through my bangs.

Then the two of them, almost in unison, launched themselves into the body of the car, bear-hugging me tightly. When they pulled away, I felt like something was being ripped forcibly out of my chest.

"I'll see you, guys." I said solemnly. "I love you two to pieces, you know that, right?" They nodded.

"We love you, too." They said it at the same time, looked at each other in surprise, then crossed their arms in mock anger.

"Copy-cat." Ami scowled. Karen stuck her tongue out at her.

"Get to class." Said flat, neutral voice.

The three of us, lost in our own little world, jumped. We had forgotten Aeneid.

"Now!" He snarled, suddenly angry. Ami and Karen gave me one long look, waved, then scampered off, frightened of Aeneid. As I watched the two of them go, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Then I whispered what would unwittingly be my last word to the two of them, the last word I would ever say to the two most important people in my life:

"Goodbye."

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**

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AUTHOR TIME **

**Ha ha ha! I showed this chapter to a friend of mine who looked at the title and freaked out. She thought that 'Goodbye' meant that this was the last chapter or something... and there are MANY MORE TO COME, mark my words!**

**I've got the entire storyline mapped out for this fic, I just have to flesh it all out, if you were wondering... I also recently began planning the main points of this thing's sequel. Yes, there will be a sequel. Exciting, neh?**

**Sad chapter, this one. The next chapter is the turning point of the story. Don't miss it!**

**What was the fear thing all about, you ask? HA HA HA read next time and find out, mortals!**

**I'm having all together too much fun with this story. Next chapter, we get some ANSWERS!!! YEAH!!! I have such fun composing dialogue for Vergil, my word... **

**I love reviews, so drop me a line or a personal email, anytime! I do so love getting messages of any sort.**

**VIR M is the sole creator of JIRA and JL TYLER'S, AMI, KAREN, and all OC's in this story.**

**CAPCOM is the proud owner of VERGIL, SON OF SPARDA.**


	15. Chapter 14: Demon

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 14:_

"**Demon"

* * *

**

As I sat quietly in the back seat of the car, mind numb, I observed Aeneid's knuckles grow white from the strength he exerted to grip the steering wheel. He didn't maneuver the car with the sleek grace he normally possessed, but rather drove the car with a hasty, almost frantic urgency. It soon became apparent even to my unobservant, insensitive eyes that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

We had just pulled out of a sharp, jerking turn in which I had slid halfway across the slick leather seats when I finally got the nerve to ask:

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

Aeneid didn't answer me, just pulled into another vicious maneuver that sent me skidding across the leather again.

"Aeneid!"

I saw his eyes steal over to me in the rearview mirror, then flick back to the pavement. He finally spoke:

"I'm getting you out of here." His voice was flat, and I bristled.

"Why? What the hell's wrong?" I glared at him as best I could. "And what do you mean 'out of here?' Where are we going?"

He didn't answer me, and I swore. For the next few minutes or so we sat in silence.

Well, actually, that would be a lie.

It would be more correct to say that HE sat in silence, while I fired off every damnation I could think of. I got bored with that eventually, and began to crack out all the insults I knew of... in alphabetical order, no less. I had gotten to (not to mention stuck on) the letter 'q,' when he at last pulled the car into the driveway.

* * *

He didn't speak to me as he killed the engine; simply leaped out of the car with surprising speed, bolted to my door, opened it, then hoisted me out, jaw set in a firm, rigid line. He closed the door with his foot, then jogged us over to the back door. He set me on my feet when we reached it. It was his next action that shocked me out of my steady stream of curses that hadn't let up for a moment since I had been so rudely carried to the door:

He put me down, then reached up one of his black gloved hands to the door's upper frame. He felt along it for a moment, then ripped the hidden key from its anchored, taped spot, pulling off paint chips in the process. I stood there, speechless, as he opened the door.

When he moved to lift me again, key in hand, I backed away, holding up my hands to ward him off.

"Dude, how did you know I had a key–?"

"We don't have time for this, Jira!" Aeneid snarled, suddenly fierce. "We need to leave! Now!" I began to shake my head, not comprehending.

"What are you talking about, 'leaving?' Why are we–?"

He promptly grabbed me by the upper arms, pulling me forward so that we were face to face, so close it was almost painful.

"I need to get you way from here– far away!" His beautiful, smoldering blue eyes were brimming with fevered fire. "I'll explain when we get there."

"Get WHERE!?" I cried, frustrated. He was about to answer me, but checked himself, and released his vice-like hold on my arms. I rubbed the places where his fingers had dug into my flesh, but didn't say anything. I somehow sensed that saying something wouldn't mean much at this point, nor would it garner me an answer. I decided it would be in my best interest to play along--

for the time being, anyway...

Seeing my new-found play at silence, he took advantage of the situation and turned from me, then made his way into the house. I followed him into the laundry room, then into the kitchen. He walked across the living room quickly, and then proceeded up the stairs and walked straight into my room.

_How the hell did he know where my room was?_ I thought angrily as I tromped up the staircase, pounding my frustration into the carpeted steps. _And more importantly, how the hell did he know about the frickin' _key

I swallowed my questions for the time being as I stepped into my room. He turned to me as he reached the center of the space, eyes flashing.

"Where do you keep the suitcases?" He asked, face blank. I noticed that his hands were clenched into fists.

"Under my bed." I said automatically, still staring apprehensively at his tense looking hands. "There's three."

I mentally kicked myself; why was I helping him?

"You'll need all of them." He said plainly. He then promptly turned, bent, and dragged out the three large containers. He unzipped the first one, then said:

"Start packing."

"What?" I asked, snapping my attention away from his actions and back to his words.

"Pack. Everything. Don't leave anything you'll ever want to see again." His voice and eyes were emotionless. "I'll get your books." He immediately turned and began to hastily pull them off the shelves and sling them into the suitcase. Finding it best not to argue, I went along with it, stepping over to my closet and pulling out all the clothes I owned. I didn't bother folding them or sorting them, just chucked them into the case haphazardly.

"Are you moving me to the dorms?" I asked suddenly. The notion was quite plausible. "So I won't be totally alone with the 'Stalker' out or something?"

He neither ceased packing nor looked at me.

"Just pack." He said, hands flying.

Taking that as a 'maybe,' I obliged.

* * *

My room looked decidedly bare when we had finished. The only sign of my recent habitation was the presence of the untouched posters on the walls, as well as the rumpled covers on the bed. My books, mementos, clothes, and shoes were crammed in suitcases, with other miscellaneous items dispersed throughout. I stood over the travel bags after I forced the last zipper shut, and ran my fingers through my bangs.

Aeneid didn't say a word to me; just picked up the two heaviest bags, one in each hand, and started down the stairs. I began to laboriously lug the last down after him. I made it to the kitchen when he re-entered the house, then was relieved of my burden. I wordlessly followed him out of doors.

* * *

The trunk of the sleek black car was surprisingly spacious, and I could see the other two cases inside it with ample room to spare. I also noticed another suitcase not belonging to me, as well as a long, sturdy wooden box. Aeneid fit my suitcase inside with a shove, then slammed down the lid with a pop. He turned to me.

"Get in the car." He said, voice as flat as always. It was then that my stubborn side took over.

"No." I said defiantly, drawing myself up to my full height, which wasn't much to speak of.

"What?" He growled.

"Tell me where we're going first." I said, squaring my shoulders. I was proud to note that my voice didn't shake. "Tell me what's going on." He glared at me.

"What don't you understand?" He whispered, voice dangerously low. "We need to get out of here-- NOW." His voice rose on the last word. "We're almost out of–"

Then he stopped, staring over my shoulder with wide eyes. ( Well, wide for Aeneid's calm persona, anyway.) I glanced behind me to find what he was staring at, and felt my knees weaken.

An apparition straight out of a horror film was standing in the driveway about thirty yards away from us. The nightmare creature was massive, stretching to almost twelve feet in height, and, even from this distance, smelled like rotting carcasses. Sand fell from its skeletal joints as it moved, and its huge, taloned hands were gripping a violet, glowing scythe.

A scythe stained with blood.

It wore a tattered, oily black shroud over its body, and a hood covered its head. A moment passed, and its hood fell partially away from it as it lumbered towards us, revealing its face. The face was the stuff of ancient horror: bone dry leather for skin, a wide, gaping jaw grotesquely stretching past its withered chin, and an empty, V-shaped broken hole where a nose must have once resided. But its eyes were the worst.

They were lidless, sunk into the monstrosity's face and overhung by a jutting, decayed brow. They glimmered with an evil, neon-violet light; a staring, pulsating glow that I am sure will haunt me until my dying day.

It screamed then-- a high pitched, keening cry that was all at once hateful, mourning,

–and predatory.

It screamed long and loud, and a pane of glass on one of the front windows of my home shattered into a million mirror shards. It took a step forward, then vanished into an oily, swirling black cloud of cloak, only to reappear about twenty yards from us, scythe swinging blindly as it sought flesh.

I was looking at my first demon, though at the time I didn't know it.

I turned to Aeneid.

"Okay." I said, clearing my throat. "Into the car it is."

* * *

**

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AUTHOR TIME**

**I'm going to be killed by giant, radioactive sporks, I'm sure of it... all in a day's work...**

**Ah, the joys of a good, nail-chewing cliffy. Anyway, I had typed out this whole chapter and the next as _one_ chapter, and it was astronomically long (LONG ASS CHAPTER, PEOPLE) so I split it into two parts: ch's 14 and 15 (14 being the shorter of the two). Worked out better that way, I believe. I was free to name this one "Demon," as I had been longing to do, and free to name the next one the PIVOTAL CHAPTER NAME. But you'll just have to wait to see that one... **

**The demon is a Hell Vanguard, by the way. Just so you know. Here is a link containing a picture of one (not a very good picture, but it serves its purpose...)http://i4. also, I want all of you to realize that sarcasm is Jira's natural defense mechanism. Porcupines have quills, skunks have stink, and Jira... has a wide, biting vocabulary. Touche, Darwin, touche. Natural select THAT, why dontcha?**

**As always: Thanks to my reviewers/favers/alerters! Rock on, brethren! **

_**VIR M. Is the creator of JIRA & CO.**_

_**CAPCOM is the creator of the entire DEVIL MAY CRY franchise**_


	16. Chapter 15: The Blood Tie

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

Chapter 15:

"**The Blood Tie"

* * *

**

We got into the car at about the same time, doors slamming in unison. Aeneid somehow managed to start the car, throw it into reverse, and back out of the driveway in only a few seconds. I watched as the creature once more swirled into a cloud of oily smoke and disappeared, only to reappear even closer to us, then saw its scythe cleave the air in the exact place the car had been a mere moment before. Its unearthly scream still reverberated in my ears.

"What was–?" I whispered, in shock once we were a safe distance away.

"That," began Aeneid in a low voice. "–was a demon."

* * *

I'm not sure how long we drove, nor am I sure of how far. All I am certain of is that after and hour or so of silent, shocked driving-- I fell asleep. 

I fell into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

When I woke, I found myself curled up in a ball of warm sheets. 

_A dream. _I thought_. It was all a dream_. I pressed my face into the pillow in order to inhale the comforting smell of my familiar detergent–

and was met with an alien, different scent.

I sat up in bed, lightening quick, tossing the covers away from myself in a frenzy. The room was dark and windowless, so I couldn't see.

Suddenly a light flicked on, and I blinked my eyes in the harsh brightness, adjusting.

It was obvious enough I was in a hotel; a clean, luxurious one at that. There were two full beds, each covered in a plaid comforter (though mine was rumpled), several doors leading to bathrooms and closets, an armoire with a TV, and a bar. There were several desks pressed against some of the walls, and Aeneid and the only lit lamp were the sole occupants of one of them.

His blue eyes were piercing as he stared at me from his chair. He cleared his throat once, but didn't speak. I decided to break the silence.

"Where are–?" Then I remembered: the fainting, the packing, the nightmare apparition standing on my front lawn, the long drive. "Oh, God..."

I swept the covers off of myself (my shoes were missing, but I was otherwise dressed), and tried to stand, only to have my knees buckle under me. I was still weak from the earlier collapse, I supposed.

Aeneid was supporting me in an instant, gripping my upper arms tightly. His hands were still gloved, I noticed.

"Don't get up." He murmured, easing me back into bed. He drew the covers over me again. "Rest."

"No–" I responded weakly. Seeing my protests, he (for once) decided to back off as I struggled into a sitting position. I glared up at him.

"Aeneid– where are we? And what was that– that THING?" I shuddered at the memory. "It was awful..." I drew my knees up to my chest under the covers.

"A demon." He said wearily.

"It's what's been killing all those people, isn't it?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer. His voice was measured as he confirmed my suspicions.

"Yes."

I stared at him, hoping for more, and was rewarded, though not in the way I had expected.

"They're looking for me. And they've been looking for you." I blanched as I heard that, uncomprehending.

"I don't know where to start..." He muttered. "You won't believe any of it..." He looked my way again. "But I suppose it starts with the Sparda legend." I raised an eyebrow.

"A character from a fairy tale." I said, voice slightly hollow. "A made-up figment of somebody's imagination–"

"Not made up." Aeneid said, face perfectly serious. "He was real."

"Sure." I said. "And so's the tooth fairy. Bull." I grinned up at him. "So you're telling me that a _demon_ just attacked us? That a big old, sickle-wielding _demon_ just randomly decided to stalk me? Me? Little old Jira?" I began to laugh, though it sounded more like a set of sobs.

"Not randomly."

I stopped laughing.

"They were looking for me, originally. Then learned of you, and you became their new focus. You were my weakness." His face was grim. "The human half of the blood tie."

"The blood what?" I asked, suddenly curious. "Human half to what, now?" He sat down on the bed opposite mine and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"You will not be able to understand it unless you know... so I suppose it's finally time."

"Time for what?" I was growing impatient. He was being cryptic and annoying and I was beginning to hate him slightly.

"Jira," He said, leaning towards me, cobalt eyes glittering. "There is no easy way to say this, so I am just going to say it." He took a deep breath.

"I am a demon."

I stared at him, silent, and he must have felt the need to clarify because he continued:

"Well, only half of one, but the reasoning is the same either way: I am not wholly human, Jira."

It took me a moment to absorb his implication. Then I grinned. I couldn't help it, it was a nervous habit.

"What, do you turn into a psychotic mass murder that smells like dead things under a full moon?" I asked, still grinning. "Do you keep a huge scythe in your basement or something?" His face darkened.

"That's not funny."

"Neither is lying to me about being a 'demon.'"

"I'm not lying!"

"Well, what the hell kind of stunt are you trying to pull, then? Demons don't exist."

"Then what do you call that thing in your driveway, then? The mailman?"

"I don't know! A hologram? You could have set this whole thing up in an attempt to kidnap me or something." My eyes narrowed. "And that's practically what you did."

He snarled then, and I drew back in fear. His growl had been absolutely FERAL.

"This bickering is pointless!" He snapped. "I know demons exist because my father was one!" His voice lowered dangerously. "And that makes me one, too."

I looked at him in the face for nearly a full minute... then decided that this man, however well I thought I knew him, was insane.

Totally, clinically insane.

My rational side reasoned was that the only option at this point was to humor him until I could find a phone, call the cops, and get the bloody hell away.

_But what if he's telling you the truth?_ My subconscious whispered tantalizingly. _That thing you saw... it was no illusion. You know that much. Nothing mundane could produce an image as horrific and as **real** as that..._

I banished the thought. No way was what he was saying true in any sense.

_I'll just humor him for the time being.._.I thought to myself. _Make a quick get-a-way later..._

"So you're a demon." I said. "Okay. What was that 'blood' thing about?"

"We have, you and I..." He said slowly. "What is called a 'blood tie.'"

I sat there eyeing silently until he continued, lacing his fingers together.

"I am not entirely sure how it works– or how it is first established– but in essence, it is the demon-kind's way of finding a marital partner." He looked up at me, face uncharacteristically glum. "This sounds idiotic, doesn't it?"

"Oh yeah." I said, nodding vigorously. "Very." He grimaced slightly.

"It's... a connection of souls. I'm not sure how... or why... but I have been acutely aware of your presence since your birth. My thoughts of you... are more fitting for an older brother, at this point. When you were a child, my feelings towards you were paternal in nature." His look was regretful. "When you come-of-age, that is, the demon coming-of-age at nineteen, I mean, they will be more..." He trailed off, but I surmised the rest.

The word 'marital partner' was still ringing in my ears, after all.

"Uh-huh." I said, banishing his implication from my mind. "I think you're insane, by the way. How do I know you're not just some child-rapist spinning a yarn to get me to–" I shut my mouth as I took in his expression.

His face had turned slightly... well, _green_. He was looking like he was going to be sick.

"Don't... imply that." He said, sounding choked. He swallowed. "I am physically incapable of causing you harm, if you want that assurance outright."

"Really now." I said mockingly. "That certainly is handy for me, now isn't it? Makes me fell nice and safe and--"

"Would you stop being so condescending!" Aeneid then said loudly, rising up from his seat. "I know all of this sounds far fetched, but you could at least be a _little_ more open-minded about it." His outburst --heck his whole SPEECH-- was out-of-character, and it frightened me.

He was obviously desperate, though for what I was unsure.

"If the only way to gain your belief," He began, teeth grit together tightly. "Is by showing it to you, then I will."

"Show me what?" I asked slowly, not entirely sure if I really wanted to know or not.

He wordlessly began to take off his gloves, looking at me thoughtfully as he did. I watched, curious, as he removed them, then held them for a long moment before he tossed them onto the bed behind him.

His expression clearly read _"No going back, now..."_

"Would you stand, please."

It was not a question, and I obliged, not knowing what else to do.

He looked into my eyes for a long moment, then slowly, very slowly, reached out to me. He gently placed his bare hands on either side of my face, touch feather light, and closed his eyes. His fingers were warm against my temples and throat, his palms forming large, burning squares on my cheeks--- I was unable to move or breathe or think. Suddenly, his eyes abruptly flicked open and met mine–

–and then I was drowning.

For a long moment, I forgot the breathe, forgot to think, forgot _myself _completely. My world exploded into tiny fragments of thought and decision, then, in an instant, reassembled into something else and alien.

I was aware, no doubts there. But I wasn't aware of Aeneid or his warm hands, wasn't looking into his face like I had been, because now I was looking into—

I was looking into my own.

I was somehow staring at myself, seeing myself.

_I'm using his eyes._ I thought. But was the thought even mine? _I'm in his body, I'm in his mind..._

_In his soul._

I was seeing myself in the way he saw me. My face somehow showed my personalities quirks– the stubborn set of my jaw, the sarcastic quirk to an eyebrow, mouth in a determined pout. My eyes were a brilliant amber-green, almost gold, and their shape was alluring yet streamlined, clever yet sensual. My skin appeared paler and more smooth than when I viewed it in the mirror, and my nondescript hair was a rich, deep brown.

To him, I was obviously beautiful.

_I don't look like that. _I told myself._ I'm more ordinary. Not this exotic. Not like this_.

Suddenly, a thought, not mine, but Aeneid's, drifted into my head.

_But you are. _He said, his voice rich and melodic. _You are beautiful, Jira. You just didn't know it until now._

_No, I... _I protested. _I'm just..._

_Not 'just,' Jira. _His honeyed voice said impatiently. _You are anything but 'just.'_

I would've insisted on being 'just' again, but I suddenly felt a SNAP echo through my consciousness. I was all at once broken off from him; it felt like I had been suddenly doused in icy-cold water. I jolted back into myself, head reeling, and collapsed into his arms.

He held me for a long moment before settling me down on the floor, my back leaning against the hotel mattress. I couldn't talk, couldn't think.

"Jira?"

His voice brought me back into the present. I looked up at him, saw his concerned cobalt eyes--

"Jira..." He began. I cut him off.

"You–" I swallowed weakly. "You're telling the truth." I was utterly certain of that.

"Yes." He said, and then again: "Yes." He looked more happy than I'd ever seen him, though somehow grave, and my thoughts of him being insane totally vanished.

Because if he was the insane one, then what in the world was I?

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**MAUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Where any of you expecting THAT?! Oh Golly now its gonna get all romantic and EW... but not really. I'll keep it to a blessed minimum, y'know, not completely saturate the fic with it or anything...**

**Anyway, yay! This chapter is done! It's not the way I wanted it to be, though. In my head, it was longer, more flowing, had more yelling and less believing in it. I also didn't get to explain about the fear thing, which I really wanted to do... but oh well. I'll just explain it right now!**

_**THE FEAR THING: Aeneid figured out that the Slasher/demon thing had found out about Jira... So naturally, he panicked. He'd been keeping mental shields up to keep their minds apart, but accidentally let them slip. She got blasted by his fear (and since he's a demon, even a bit of anxiety for him is like full blown TERROR for her.) and fainted. He couldn't sense her consciousness, so he ran around like an idiot trying to find her and eventually went into the nurses office... and you know the rest. **_

**Their minds can be shared through touch or just by thought, but Vergil showed her the link through touch because she might've just written off the emotion-share to being drugged or something. Just thought you should know. Jira is a stubborn one, isn't she? DEMON MAILMEN!**

**Oh, everybody! I got AIM! It's Vir M Ver**

**Yay! I've had the software on my computer forever, but never made a usable screen name... so here one finally is! Talk to me if any of you want to!**

VIR M is the sole creator of JIRA & Co

CAPCOM is the owner of VERGIL and the DEVIL MAY CRY SERIES


	17. Chapter 16: Home?

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 16:_

"**Home?"

* * *

**

After being subjected to the effects of our 'blood tie,' I had fallen into a deep, deep sleep. Aeneid had woken me up this morning with the words "We need to move." Under Aeneid's direction, I had changed into plain clothes and had tucked my hair up underneath a hat. His explanation was: "They'll have reported you missing by now. We don't want to be spotted."

"What about you?" I had asked as he positioned the hat on my skull with his gloved hands. "They'll notice you're gone."

"I resigned yesterday when I sensed that demon." He explained, eyes averted. "I told them I was getting married and moving out of state."

I decided not to comment.

* * *

Later that morning, we were sitting in a secluded corner booth at a rode-side café, eating breakfast opposite one another. He was having bacon and eggs, and I was having a cinnamon roll. I was about halfway finished when I remembered:

"Sparda."

"Hm?"

"You said it started with the Sparda legend, but never told me about it." I cocked my head to one side. "Tell me." I ordered.

He sat back and set his fork down on the table.

"I never did tell you, did I?" He said slowly. He looked at me, eyes curious. "What brought this up, exactly?"

"Oh, nothing really." I said, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. "Just remembered, is all." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Would you like the simple version, or the elaborate one?" His face was neutral, but his eyes seemed to glow. I contemplated the choice for a moment.

"We've got plenty of time for the long version, so let's just start off with the short one." I smiled, and his face grew thoughtful.

"Well," He said. "He was–"

Just then, our waitress took the liberty of asking if everything was alright. She was a tall, leggy, voluptuous blond with pretty-enough features, but gave off the distinct impression that she was one of the individuals who lived up to their hair colour's implied intelligence. She cast an appraising eye over Aeneid, and I felt my blood boil.

"Everythin' alrigh'?" She spoke in a slur that was obviously supposed to sound attractive, and completely ignored me. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you." Aeneid said without looking at her. "Jira? Do you need anything?"

"Nope." I said casually, tracing a design into my roll's icing with my fork. "I'm good."

The woman looked defeated, but still tipped Aeneid a wink which he did not return. She promptly hurried off.

"Where were we?" He asked once we were alone again.

"Sparda." I prompted. "The short version." Aeneid stared at me for a long moment before picking up his fork. He didn't begin eating again, though. He stared at his food for a moment, then looked back up at me.

"He was my father." His eyes were clear as glass, but the colour of the sea.

It took a moment for that to sink in.

"What?" I asked, eyes big as plates. "Your what?"

"My father." He repeated. "He is long since deceased, however." He looked amused. "I thought you might have guessed my heritage while reading that book I gave you; we look quite alike in the illustrations."

I thought on that a moment.

"Yeah, I suppose y'all do." I said grudgingly, peeved that I hadn't made the connection before. Then something struck me.

"Wait..." I said suspiciously. "If he's your dad, then how old are...?" I gasped. "He lived _thousands of years ago_!" He chuckled at that.

"I am older than I appear."

"Well, that explains the hair."

"I'm not_ that_ old." He replied, miffed. "This is how my hair has always been." I looked at him for a long moment.

"You didn't answer my question." I said. "How old _are _you? Really." He didn't respond for about a minute.

"I was born in 1921." His gaze was level. "In November." I blinked at him as that registered.

"Jesus Christ on a merry-go-round!" I said loudly. I calculated quickly in my head. "You're nearly 85!" He shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't age as quickly as a full-blooded human." He said, looking away. "I stopped aging at about twenty-four, and I can't die by simple old age, either." His face was tried looking at he reveiled this new bit of information. I ogled him.

"Twenty-four forever." I said in awe, then narrowed my eyes. "Are you immortal?" He stared down at his food.

"As close to it as one can become." He said slowly. "I'm immune to almost all disease, and I heal very, very quickly from physical wounds." He looked at me levelly. "If I stay out of trouble, I could theoretically live until the end of the world." I grinned at that.

"Cool." I said. Then my face fell, and I asked:

"So when I'm ninety and old and stuff, you'll look just like this?" He leaned forward suddenly, all at once intense.

"That's something I wish to discuss with you." He said, burning eyes boring into mine. "I don't–" He stopped suddenly.

The waitress was there again, holding the check. Aeneid paid it in cash, didn't wait for the change, and stood without a word. I followed suit and walked out to the car.

* * *

When we were safely inside its leather interior, I broke the silence.

"You were saying we were going to discuss...?" I trailed off, hoping he would continue. He stayed silent for about twenty seconds.

"Now is not the time." He said simply. "And please don't argue about it." His expression was pained.

"Great." I said wearily. "More secrets. What else is new?" I turned away from him to lean against the window. "I'm going to take a nap."

"We'll be there in about three hours." He said. His voice was slightly apologetic, though mostly neutral.

"Good." I said. "Wake me up when we get there." I promptly shut my eyes.

* * *

"Wake up, Jira."

I blinked my eyes blearily, swimming laboriously up from the depths of sleep. Aeneid had reached over and was shaking my shoulder gently.

"Wake up." He repeated.

"All right, all right already!" I snapped, rubbing my eyes for a moment while swiping the stocking cap off my head. "So where the hell are– oh!" I gasped as I looked out the wind shield.

We were in the mountains: snow was on the ground and fir trees dominated the skyline. I could see mountains rising above the tips of the trees in the distance.

It was beautiful.

"Utah." Aeneid said, making me jump. "Rocky Mountains." He then pointed out my window. "And there's home."

I followed his pointing finger, then promptly jammed my face up against the glass to get a better look at the house.

It was a modern looking building, all shining, reflective glass, sitting atop a bluff. It was hewn from pine logs and stell, blended seamlessly together into a modern-yet-slightly-old-time new age cabin. It overlooked a rolling, snow-filled valley, and I could just barely make out–

"Are those elk?" I asked, squinting my eyes to see. Aeneid peered past me.

"Yes." He said after a moment of observation. "There aren't many people up here, so they can wander." I turned to look at him.

"How did you get this thing?" I asked, eyes wide. "It must've cost a fortune." He chuckled.

"And I have one." I blanched at that.

"Teachers aren't paid—"

"I'm old, remember? I've had a long time to amass wealth." His face grew somber. "Let's go inside, shall we?"

* * *

The inside was spacious, with high doors and ceilings. There were windows everywhere, but there were steel shutter and blinds equipped on all of them in the event of a bad storm or the like. There were twelve rooms in all: a living room, a library, Aeneid's study, a kitchen, a parlor, five bedrooms, and a media room. The last room was up a flight of winding stairs, and Aeneid called it 'the loft.' The flooring in every room was tasteful black slate, and most of the tables, chairs, and desks were black wood with dark blue cushions. There was an entertainment system in the media room, but no TV's or stereo systems anywhere else, except for one of the bedrooms.

My room, specifically.

Aeneid did not show me into his room or the loft, but made quite a show about introducing me to mine.

"You'll be staying in here." He said as he pushed open the black door. "I hope you like it."

I did like it. It was just like my room back home, but without the posters. Black and red walls, red and black throw rugs scattered about, book cases everywhere. I also noticed that the window faced west.

"Thank you." I said quietly, not looking at him as I stood idly in the empty space's center. I was suddenly homesick.

"You'll want to unpack." He said quietly. I then heard him turn, presumably to get my suitcases. I walked farther into the room and sat on my bed.

_Is this really happening?_ I thought as I leaned my head in my hands. _Am I really just going along with all this... madness?_

I snapped my head back up as Aeneid reentered. He was carrying two of the suitcases. He set them on the floor without a word and turned to go get the last, and I put my head in my hands again.

_If this is all a trick... _I though as I watched him leave. _Then why do I feel so... at peace with it?_

He must've put the last suit case in my room without a sound, because when I next opened my eyes, they were lying in a row in front of me. I stood, then looked down at the cases.

_My life... _I thought brokenly, suddenly choked. _My life can be summed up in the contents of three suitcases._

I titled my head back and contemplated the white ceiling.

_My old life is behind me now. _I thought. _No going back, not after all this._

Then I grinned.

"I guess it's time to make a new one." I said aloud. I bent and began to unpack, still grinning, feeling rebellious and alive.

"_Fuck _you, fate. I make my _own _destiny."

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**Okay, so this chapter is next to completely pointless... But who cares, I still wrote one. All this really does is show how Jira has come to terms with her role in Verg's life... woot!**

**I STARTED A NEW FIC!!!!!!! All I uploaded so far is the prologue though... but the first chapter is halfway done. It is called "The Influx." **

**Its storyline will eventually cross over with THIS fic's. Yay!!! The crossover will happen in another fan fiction entirely though, and it will be called "Sentient." Sentient acts as a joints sequel for both fics. Skiddle-dee! **My profile has more information.

_**DMC belongs to CAPCOM**_

_**Vir M is the creator of Jira and her world.**_


	18. Chapter 17: Changes

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 17:_

"**Changes"

* * *

**

So there I was, innocently reading Aeneid's ancient leather copy of "The Tempest," when all of a sudden he decides to spring a rather urgent issue on me.

"Jira, you need a hair-cut."

Wait, wait, I know what you're thinking. I mean, that doesn't seem at _all_ abnormal. My bangs needed trimming every three weeks or so or else I wound up a veritable sheep dog.

It was his next phrase that sent me leaping skyward in sudden apprehensiveness.

"After all, your face is going to be plastered all over the news and missing child bulletins for the next few weeks or so, which means a new look is in order, I believe."

"Shit!" I exclaimed, bolting to me feet. The book flew out of my hands. Aeneid caught it. "Why didn't you bring this up _earlier_?" I scrambled out of the library at top speed, setting off at a dead run for my room. He kept up easily, loping alongside me.

"Well, I figured since you're starting school again next week–"

"WHAT?! SINCE WHEN?!"

Now, to top off the hair-cut, school. Great.

"You know, Aeneid–" I said, rounding on him, hands on my hips. "It'd sure be NICE of you to fill me in every ONCE in a while." He only shrugged.

"I've already made arrangements." His face was neutral, but his eyes had an amused glimmer. I sighed.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" I said acidly. "Shouldn't school be MY choice, and–"

"No." I blanched.

"What do you–?"

"I registered myself as your legal guardian in all of the documents, so the decision making now all falls to me."

"WHAT?!"

"You have a new name, too, by the way."

"Jesus!" I stared at him, open mouthed and lost for words. Shouldn't_ I_ have been the one to pick my own name, for Pete's sake?

I was getting pissed. He shrugged.

"You would've fought me." His stare was level. "But I picked a name that sounds similar to yours, to make the transition less stressful."

"Well aren't you considerate?" I snapped, a sarcastic bite flavouring my words. "Care to tell me MY OWN NAME, Aeneid?" The amusement died as his expression darkened.

"First of all, you need to call _me_ by _mine_." His face was slightly grim.

"Aeneid?" I said, puzzled.

"No." He said, clearing his throat. "Vergil. I'd appreciate it if you would call me that, from now on, given the circumstances." He looked away.

"Fine." I huffed. "We trade. You're Vergil, and I'm–?"

"Jianna." He said. "Jianna Lankston. I tried to pick a fitting name, and your initials will still match... Do you like it?"

I contemplated the name for a moment.

"Jianna Lankston..." I said slowly, feeling the way it formed itself on my tongue. "Jianna... as in 'John?'"

"Yes." Aenei– _Vergil_ said. "It's Italian for the female form of 'John.'" His face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed him: he was hopeful he'd picked well, and I felt my anger soften.

"I like it." I announced, doing my best to smile at the infuriating man. "Call me Jianna while we're out, so I can get used to it." He nodded, then turned to leave.

"We leave in an hour... Jianna."

* * *

Embarrass, Colorado, was a town with a population of about twenty thousand. It was nestled in the far side of the valley overlooked by 'The Great Pile' (which is what I had officially dubbed my new home). The place was a tourist attraction for the extremely wealthy, but was too remote for the more conservative of the millionaires.

As such a recreational area for the influential, it did indeed have its own shopping mall and high-end part of town. It was in this district I had my hair done.

Ae– 'Vergil' (I had to continue forcing myself to remember) drove me to the place (a ritzy looking spa) and escorted me inside. He had apparently called and made an appointment for me earlier on in the day.

"There's a bookshop across the street." He said as I sat in the lavender-scented waiting room with four older women, who were all eyeing Vergil with rather predatory interest. "I'll meet you there when you finish, okay, Jianna? I already paid, so you do not need to worry about–"

"Okay, Mom." I said sarcastically, aware of the other ladies' scrutiny. "I'll get somebody to hold my hand when I cross the street, I promise." One of his eyebrows shot up.

"Please do." He smirked. "And don't get lost." He promptly turned and left the building, attracting stares as he went.

"_He's _certainly a handsome one."

I jumped: one of the ladies nearby was addressing me.

"Ma'am?" I asked, slightly nervous, but not quite knowing why. I felt my cheeks go pink

"He's handsome." She repeated, smiling at me with a motherly look, hair in curlers and a mud-mask on her round face. "Are you two dating?" Her look of maternal understanding was grating on my nerves.

"He's my legal guardian." I said quietly, attempting to not glare at her. "And that's _it_." I injected a drop of venom into the last syllable, and her smile faltered.

"That's... good to hear." She stammered. "He's much too old for you." She promptly buried her nose in a copy of _People._

"Jianna Lankston?"

It took me a moment to react: yet another woman was looking at me, only this one was wearing a uniform that presumably belonged to the establishment.

"This way, please." She said with a smile. I nodded, stood, and followed.

* * *

"_Layers_." I had said. "_Chunky n' spiky. And lots of 'em._"

I was not expecting THIS.

My hair was great. Perfect. I looked like a different person, just like I had wanted.

I just wished it wasn't so damn _crazy_.

My hair had originally been naturally straight and simple. No layers, only the smallest ones dispersed sparingly, and thick, blunt bangs that mirrored my base, no-hold-barred personality.

These were _crazy_.

I had layers galore, more than normal for_ anybody_. My bangs had been transformed into fashionable, intentionally messy, wind swept, feathered strands of varying length that blew alternately into my eyes and mouth. The rest of it had been layered to near pieces; there was no one lock the same length as another.

My look had changed from 'simple' to 'chic' in only an hour's time.

"The best part–" the cheerful hairdresser had explained. "– is that since most of the layers are so short, or so weighed down by the others, that they'll be stick-straight even if you sleep on them with wet hair." She seemed to think she had done me a favor, and I supposed she had. "Do you like it?" She asked.

"I probably will." I said slowly, unsure of how I _really_ felt. "It's just so..."

"Different?" The lady supplied with a smile. "It always is with such a severe change." She tipped me a wink. "It'll grow on you, cutie!"

_Cutie? _I thought as I left the salon. The wind was bitterly cold, though no snow fell. I cinched my parka closer. _Now where's that bookstore..._

I spotted it across the street, checked for cars, and made my way towards it, plodding along slowly in my heavy boots.

* * *

The glowing sign said in large, purple letters the word "MOONLIGHT," and underneath that, in smaller letters: "Books." It was a posh-yet-rustic looking place.

It also looked warm, and I was freezing.

A bell chimed somewhere inside the shop as I entered. I was greeted with a rush of warmer air, and a friendly greeting of: "Welcome to Moonlight!"

The woman addressing me was a tallish, young-looking woman about twenty four years of age. She had large, deep brown eyes and crinkly chocolate hair, at odds with her fair complexion. She was wearing a red silk blouse that set off the rose in her cheeks.

"Can I help you with anything?" She asked, smiling shyly. Her eyes crinkled pleasingly at the corners, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Waiting for a friend." I said warmly. "Just looking for today." The woman nodded.

"I'm Deidre." She said. "Just call my name if you need anything."

"Will do." I replied.

* * *

The shop was obviously a privately owned establishment: many of the books were old looking, possibly antique, and the shelves were not the mass-produced metal kind most used in chain stores. The shop consisted of several large rooms, connected by large, arching doorways, and shelves were crammed into every available space. There were books in stacks on tables, books in stacks on stools. Books were piled on top of other books, and crammed haphazardly onto every surface and stuffed into every available nook.

I grinned as I took it all in. It was my kind of place.

I found a treasure trove: there was an entire section of the largest room devoted to nothing but history. I found a book called "Understanding Misunderstanding", a text about the repeated causes of war, cleared a space on one of the low tables, sat down, and began to read.

* * *

"Jianna?"

I didn't respond at first.

"Jianna!"

I snapped my head up and leapt off the table.

"Aeneid!"

He glowered at that, and I hastily corrected myself.

"Vergil," I said, biting my lower lip. "When'd you get here?"

"Just now." He answered. Then his eyes narrowed. "Turn."

"Huh?"

"Turn for me. So I can see your hair."

I complied, slowly pivoting on one foot. When I turned to face him, his expression was pleased.

"No one will recognize you--" He said confidently. "–unless they know who you actually are already." He turned from me then. "Let's go."

I followed, depositing my book (which had been quite good) regretfully back onto its shelf.

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**Yay! Another scene-setting chapter with not that much point. Good God... Vergy-kins is a control freak. Woot!**

**The bookstore will play an important role later on in the story. Just wait.**

**The name "The Great Pile" (what Jira named the house) is homage to one of my favourite authors: Dean Koontz. In the book "Tick Tock," there's a house with that name. Just thought you should know.**

**PUNKROCKER505: Didja see her, little miss contest winner? The bookstore clerk! Yay! There you are... Anyway, turns out she will be a bigger character than I had at first thought. I apologize if I royally fucked anything up; VERY SORRY!!!**

**Anyway: Next chapter will have Jira at her new school! Lovely...**

**Her assumed name is pronounced "JOHN-uh." Really like "John" with an 'a' at the end. Sounds close enough to JEER-uh to be easily recognizable by her. Lankston, Lancaster. Similar yet different.**

**And if anybody here needs to find a name for aq character, child, pet, WHATEVER, I recommend "www. BabyNames. com" You can search by meaning or ANYTHING. It's so cool. It's how I found Jira's name actually; just searched "blood related" or a variation thereof. **

**Anyway, see you next time! Spread the love around!**

**JIRA and Co. Are creations of VIR M.**

**CAPCOM is the owner of VERGIL and DMC**


	19. Chapter 18: New Friends, Old Enemies

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 18:_

**"New Friends, Old Enemies"

* * *

**

I woke up that morning feeling apprehensive. In fact, I felt more nervous than I ever had in my life.

It was odd: I almost never felt nervous about meeting people. The feeling seemed strange, too, though I couldn't place just why.

The day was mild; cold, yes, but the sky was a cloudless, pale blue, and the sun shone a rather watery life down onto our snow-covered earth.

"School..." I muttered as I stood on the cliff-over-hanging, living room balcony, the wind whistling around me. "Why'd it have to start today?" I ran a hand through my shorter-cropped, layered hair as I spoke. I shivered; I was in nothing but my pajamas: a pair of sweat pants and a tank top. My bare feet felt like they were being burnt off by the cold.

I heard a swishing sound from behind me, then:

"Jira!"

I turned; Vergil was standing in the doorway, looking appalled. I grinned at him.

"Yo." I said slowly, raising a hand. "Wassup?"

"Come inside right now." He growled, not returning my greeting. "You're going to–"

"'–catch my death of cold,' I know, I know." I pursed my lips. "Don't be such a stiff, Verge." He glowered at me, then moved away from the sliding doors as I stepped inside.

"My name is 'Vergil.'" His face was dark. "Not 'Verge.'" I just grinned at him.

"Whatever, whoever-you-are. What's for breakfast?"

* * *

"Do I have to?" 

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

I sighed heavily. Vergil wasn't letting me out of this.

We were sitting in the car in the virtually empty school parking lot, shielded by the cold in the car's warm bubble. The school itself loomed before us, and consisted of only three buildings: two containing classrooms, and a third for the gym. I had taken the tour with the principal the day before, and knew where all my classes were, fortunately.

"I suppose so." I said glumly. "I'm just really nervous, you know? I don't usually get like this..." I shrugged. "I hope I remember everything."

"You will." Vergil said confidently. "You practiced, remember?"

We had spent the last week perfecting the details of my alternate life story: My parents had died when I was young, and I had drifted around in foster homes until I was ten. I was at last taken in by a kindly older woman and her only son. She had died in an unfortunate car accident, and the father-figure son, Vergil, became my guardian.

"Practice isn't the same thing as actually doing it." I snapped. "What if I mess up, or somebody recognizes me?"

"Then we leave." Said Vergil simply. My mouth dropped open. "I have another house or two in various other states."

"I'm... sure you do." I stammered. _Just how wealthy_ is_ this guy?_ I thought. Vergil glanced at his watch.

"You have twenty minutes." He said slowly. "Would you like to wait here, or go inside?"

I thought for a moment.

"I'll go." I said, opening my door. I was greeted by a blast of chilling cold. "No use delaying the inevitable." I was about halfway out of the car when Vergil grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside.

"If you need anything," He said, eyes fierce. "Call me. I'll come." His face softened slightly. "Good luck today, Jira."

"S-sure." I stuttered, unnerved. "See you, Verge." I felt a blush rise in my cheeks, and to cover it, I wrenched my arm out of his hand and slammed the car door behind me with a bang.

The car pulled away slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to leave, and I headed for the school.

* * *

It was locked. 

I withered inside. Other students were milling around in their heavy jackets, and it became obvious that this was old hat.

_So they don't let us in until school starts._ I thought to myself, shivering._ I should've stayed with Vergil in the car... at least I'd be warm..._

I glanced around me for a moment, legs beginning to ache. Standing in the cold was tiring me out; I needed to sit.

There was a tree about twenty feet to the left of the doors I needed to go through, and I sat beneath it, leaning against the rough trunk, legs crossed. I leaned my head back against the bark and closed my eyes. About five minutes passed.

"You're in my spot."

I opened my eyes. A boy, who looked about my age, was standing over me, holding a guitar case underneath one arm. He wore a black leather jacket and blue jeans, and had longish, wavy black hair. His eyes were a deep, melancholy brown. He was evenly tanned, and when he spoke, I could see even, white teeth.

While he had nothing on Vergil's raw male beauty, he was still one whom a teenage girl could go ga-ga over, what with those eyes and that hair.

"You're in my spot." He repeated. His voice was surprisingly deep.

"Find your own tree." I snapped, not in the mood. "There's plenty to go around, bub." I shut my eyes again and ignored him.

"You new here?"

My eyes popped open. Why did he care?

"Yeah." I said, looking at him blandly. "Got a problem?"

"Naw." He said, totally unperturbed as he began lowering himself down to my level, setting his guitar across his knees. "I just sit here a lot, is all."

"So?" I asked. What in the hell was he getting at?

"People here are picky 'bout where they hang." He explained. "People've got regular spots n' stuff, and they don't usually switch turf mid year." He laughed. "If you were anything but new, you'd'a known." He grinned and held out a hand.

"I'm Eric." He said good-naturedly. I took his hand and shook it.

"Jianna." I said simply.

"So, what year are you?" He asked, releasing me from his firm clasp.

"Junior." I grunted. "You?"

"Same." He said lazily. "Where're you from?"

"You talk a lot." I replied waspishly, annoyed at his questions, though strangely enjoying the attention.

"Only to people I like." He said openly. "You're kinda cool." His smile was disarming.

"Don't you have any other friends?" I asked quickly. I didn't want to get close to anybody here, in case Vergil and I had to move again. I didn't want to repeat the Ami/Karen dilemma. I missed them badly.

"Nope." He laughed. "I'm a loner."

"Right." I said bluntly. "And so somebody sits by your tree and you think you've found a friend? Is that it?"

"No." He said quickly, finally getting flustered. "I just–"

The bell rang.

I stood quickly and walked away, leaving Eric sitting there on the ground, staring after me.

* * *

I'm not entirely sure how it happened. It did though, and I don't regret it. 

Eric and I became friends.

He had classes with me, and since he was the only one I knew, it was to him I directed questions and got information from. He turned out to be a well of good-feelings, a person quick to smile and to laugh. His large, sultry eyes were warming, and I felt myself instantly attracted to his open manner. He loved rock music and cars, and wasn't close to anyone at the school, preferring solitude above company (that is, until I came along).

Vergil, though, was not so thrilled at my choice of companion.

* * *

It was after school, and I was waiting for Vergil with Eric. 

"Do you drive?" I asked Eric. He grinned.

"Got a bike." He said proudly. I didn't understand.

"A bicycle." I said, wondering at his sudden happiness. He laughed.

"No, a _motor_cycle. It's parked 'round back. Do ya need a lift?"

"I've got a ride." I said quickly. I punched Eric in the shoulder mockingly. "Aren't motorcycles dangerous? A kid like you riding a monster like one of those?" He stuck his tongue out at me.

"Ha ha, J." He had abandoned 'Jianna' in favor of 'J' during the course of the day. "I'm nineteen already."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "I've still got seven months to go!" He shrugged.

"My dad started me late." He explained.

"Gotcha." I said.

I looked away from him for a moment, staring up at the mountains looming nearby. It was cold, and my jacket didn't shield me from the wind as well as I had hoped it would. I shivered, and Eric noticed.

"Oh, J." He said, feigning exasperation. "Wear a heavier jacket next time, winter's bitter 'round here." Before I could protest, he had shrugged out of his leather coat. "Here." He said cheerfully. "It's warm."

"Eric, no!" I said, laughing. "How can you stand the cold?" He was wearing a cut off t-shirt and nothing else, and I noticed that his arms were very nicely toned.

"Grew up here." He said cheerfully, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Used to it."

"Uh-huh." I said skeptically, shrugging into his coat. "Not just trying to impress me?"

"Nope." He grinned. "Just being me."

I smiled at him. He was a nice guy.

We chatted for a few minutes more, and then I looked out towards the street just in time to see Vergil's car pull up to the curb about twenty feet away.

"Here's my ride." I piped. I slipped out of Eric's coat and handed it back to him. "Thanks for waiting here with me." He wasn't listening to me, though, he just stood there staring at the car with his mouth open.

"It that a Corvette?" He asked, eyes wide. "A C-6 Geiger?" He look was one of utter awe. "What I wouldn't give to get under the hood of that..." He tore his gaze away and looked sheepishly back at me.

"You like cars, huh?" I asked, amused at his boyish joy.

"A little..." He said, embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck to hide the rising flush in his tan cheeks.

"It's alright." I laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"I'm at the tree every morning." He grinned, slipping back into his jacket. "Adios, J!" He turned, waving, and I watched his retreating back for a long moment before getting into the car.

* * *

Vergil pounced the moment I got into the vehicle. 

"Who was that?" He asked, eyes flashing angrily. "That boy?"

"Chill, Verge." I snapped. "Just a guy I met, 'kay? No need to freak."

"I don't like him." He growled, gripping the steering wheel more tightly than necessary.

"You haven't even _met_ Eric!" I said, both appalled and flabbergasted at once. "Who are you to judge–"

"So his name is Eric." He spat sibilantly. "I never liked that name, I–"

I let him vent as it dawned on me. I felt a wicked grin worm its way across my features as he stormed on. When his insults tapered off, I spoke.

"Jealousy isn't fittin' on ya, Verge."

That was a bad move.

He slammed on the brakes and pulled violently over to the side of the road. I had been so wrapped up in our little argument I hadn't even noticed that we were already about halfway up the mountain road leading to our home. Forest bordered the road to our left, and a cliff, blocked by a steel guard rail, dropped off into empty space on out right.

Vergil's eyes were brimming pools of blue fire, beautiful but deadly. Once again, he looked a dragon.

"I am _not_ jealous." His words were spoken in a low voice, but they were menacing sounding none the less. "But I do _not_ like that boy."

"His name is _Eric_." I retorted, pissed. "And he's really more of a_ man _than a boy, if you want my opinion!"

"Jira..." Vergil began. I cut him off.

"No!" I yelled. "He's my friend, Vergil! Just accept that _you are not the only man in this world I am allowed to hold a conversation with!_"

I tore my eyes away from him and promptly scrabbled for the door handle.

"What are you doing?" Vergil asked sharply, grabbing my wrist.

"Stuff it, Verge." I snapped. "I'm going for a walk." I jerked my arm away from him for the second time that day and slammed the door behind me. I started off into the woods and didn't look back.

"Wait, Jira–!" Vergil called.

"Twenty minutes, bastard!" I shot over my shoulder. "I need to cool down and so do you!"

And with that, I plunged into the woods.

* * *

I soon forgot myself. I ran through the woods like a mad man, but it helped. It made me feel like I was running from my worries, leaving them far behind me where I wouldn't be troubled by them any longer. About twelve minutes later, I tried to go back. 

It was then I realized I was lost.

"Great." I said aloud, surveying the identical looking trees and rocks. "Next I'll meet a bear." I sighed theatrically. "Wonderful. Peachy." I hugged my coat around me tightly as I set off.

I came to a clearing a few minutes later and sat down on an overturned log, exhausted. I put my head in my hands, feeling utterly alone.

_**CRACK**_

I jerked my head up at the sound of breaking twigs.

_Vergil followed me! I'm saved!_ I thought joyfully as I stood and turned around, smiling with relief.

However, it was most definitely not Vergil.

It was The Thing.

The Thing I had left behind, the lumbering, scythe wielding monstrosity from what felt like years before was standing not a hundred yards from me, its rotting face seemingly even more horrific than before now that Vergil was not here to lean on. It leered at me out of those violet eyes, then uttered an ear piercing shriek, a shriek that spoke of triumph, of a chase come to a close.

The thing, that monstrous beast to whom**_ I_** was the prey, had followed me all the way to my new home.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME! **

**You guys are gonna kill me for this cliff... I'm evil. **

**Jira is in DANGER, Verge! Come SAVE her!!!!!**

**But will he get there in time...?**

**I WON'T UPDATE UNTIL I GET TEN MORE REVIEWS!!!!! I have fifty right now, so I will update after I get SIXTY reviews TOTAL for the ENTIRE fic. GET REVIEWING, PEOPLE!!!!!**

**Did any of you notice that the beginning of this chapter is almost de-ja-vu-ish in regard of the first chapter? I made it that way; its supposed to feel familiar. So does the whole "Car on side of road" bit. Verge, learn a new scare tactic, please...**

**Eric will always be just a friend. Don't get any ideas, guys. JIRA WILL NEVER LOVE ERIC! Just thought ya'll should know.**

**Anyway, this fic got its 2000th hit today! Yay! You all have been so supportive, I'm touched! It's on nine peoples' alert lists, has been faved by nine people, and has received 50 comments so far. Yay! You guys make me VERY happy!**

**Vergil's car is inspired by the Corvette C6 Geiger. Just type it into google image search and its one of the first pics to pop up (it's black in my favorite pic of it, and I'll post the link on my profile just in case you can't find it). The one in the fic has a backseat and larger trunk though... BUT I STILL LOVE THAT CAR!**

**DMC belongs to CAPCOM**

**JIRA & CO to VIR M.**


	20. Chapter 19: A Promise Kept

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 19:_

"**Promise Kept"

* * *

**

My knees buckled beneath me, and I began to scramble backwards over the pine-needle strewn ground. My feet attempted to find purchase on the slick dead leaves as the thing advanced, scythe raised. It lifted its head higher, hood falling back to reveal its horrifying, rotting visage, and uttered an ear piercing call, nose-less face lifted as if to scent the wind for its prey.

I did what any sane person would have done in this situation.

I ran.

I shot to my feet and sprinted in the opposite direction. I could hear its shriek as it gave chase, and could hear the crash of trees as they fell around it as it cleaved a path through the dense forest with its pulsating weapon.

_Vergil!_ I tried to scream. It didn't get past my lips, was nothing more than a mental shout. _Vergil! _Terror coloured my vision red, and my breath came in harsh, rasping bites of cold air. _Vergil!_

I scrambled up a steep, almost vertical slope, tripping on roots and rocks, shaking loose debris that skittered back down the incline, desperate to be anywhere but here.

I was almost to the top when I fell. My traction-less converse lost purchase on the loose gravel, and I was sent sliding down backward into the ravine. My hands groped futilely for roots, rocks, anything that could give me leverage once more, but to no avail. I landed on my feet jarringly, but collapsed almost immediately. Shock radiated up from the soles of my feet, and I was momentarily paralyzed, feet and calves numb from the pain. My left ankle hurt more badly that the rest of me, and I clutched at the appendage, wincing, as I saw my attacker approach.

It stood about twenty feet away, utterly still, eyes burning with malice. Its oily black shroud fluttered sickeningly in the breeze, and I was all at once aware of the utter silence that had descended over the vale. No birds chirped, no leaves rustled, and the wind made no sound as it toyed with the unbound locks of my hair, sending cold fingers skittering down my spine. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end.

Was I going to die here?

The thing slowly took a step towards me, then another, then another. Its gait was calm and collected, it was confident its prey was incapacitated. I watched in horror as it slowly made its way towards me.

Desperately, I groped around for something, _anything_ that I could defend myself with. I touched rocks, but they were too small, twigs, but they were too brittle, and suddenly found a large, light, spiky object, and I wrenched it out of the earth.

It was a pinecone.

I threw it without thinking. It launched up and away from me and landed about thirty feet to the left of the demon. Its rotting face whipped around as it paused mid stride, turning itself to face the source of the noise.

Apparently, the monstrosity was stupid. Interesting.

It began to lumber over towards the sound, momentarily forgetting me. Seeing its preoccupation, I struggled to my feet, ankle burning like a miniature sun, and tried to hobble away.

I turned away from the demon, and had gotten about two steps when the thing appeared in a flash of purple and black light.

_Stupid._ I cursed mentally. _You knew it could teleport, you dolt!_

I tried to turn and run the other way, but tripped, ankle throbbing.

Suddenly, a trail of fire blossomed across my back.

I screamed, head thrown back, eyes wide.

_Pain!_ I thought.

I rolled onto my stomach as I hit the ground, back screaming out at me in agony, agony from the creatures razor scythe, ankle bones grinding against one another sickeningly. It was very definitely broken. I choked out a sob of mixed pain and fear, but did not cry.

I did not cry.

_Vergil..._ I thought desperately, then with more force:_ Vergil!_

The thing teleported again, this time it was directly in front of my prostrate form. I raised my head, and its ugly, knowing eyes seemed to leer.

_Go on. _It seemed to say. _Beg me for mercy._

I raised a hand slowly, weakly, then formed a fist. I promptly straightened my middle finger.

"Fuck... you." I gasped, flicking the thing off. I let my hand fall weakly to the ground.

I watched as the thing responded by raising its scythe over its head. I closed my eyes. My hand groped for the fine gold chain around my throat, and I held onto Vergil's gift tightly for a long moment.

_I'm sorry, Vergil_. I thought, waiting for the end. _I'm so, so sorry. _I smiled weakly, then opened my eyes.

The scythe began to descend.

The world slowed down.

The sickle whistled downwards, pulsating in its violet, evil light. My eyes burned as the light seared them, and I was vaguely aware of the ground turning shades of purple. It was beautiful, in a sick way. I squeezed my eyes shut against the light.

_This is it... I'll be dead in a moment_. I thought, then grinned. _Vergil'll sure be pissed_. I laughed internally, then sobered.

_Vergil... they say you relive the happiest moments of your life right before you die... funny, I can only seem to think of you..._

I saw his face when he gave me my necklace, saw his eyes sparkle, amused, when he taunted me. Saw the look of shock he'd worn that day I had blown up in his face in his office. I remembered the way that brief smile had looked, that impromptu present he never knew he gave me. Remembered the way his brow furrowed at my language, his reprimands and how they stung.

I remembered what the blood tie felt like.

I didn't want to die, I knew that much. There was too much to live for.

Ami and Karen, though they were unreachable... and now, Eric.

But most importantly...

Vergil.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

The purple light intensified as the scythe drew closer–

–and closer–

–and closer–

–and then, abruptly, it was gone.

My eyes snapped open.

The demon was turned around, the backs of its large, skeletal feet only inches from my face. All at once, there was a flash of light, blue this time, and the thing howled and writhed in obvious agony.

_Serves it right._ I thought viciously.

It dropped to one knee, and I was able to see the demon's attacker.

It was Vergil.

His eyes were flashing in a way I had never witnessed. The seemed to brim over with blue lava, scorching.

To me, however, they were a balm.

"Vergil!" I cried, struggling upwards. His wild eyes fixed themselves on me, then, in a flash, he was at my side. The demon before us was only just beginning to recover, but Vergil gathered me in his arms and had somehow, superhumanly, managed to leap atop the slope I had earlier fallen down.

I cried out in pain as his arms put pressure on my lacerated back.

"Jira!" He rasped. "You are–"

"Late!" I replied, gasping. "I took longer than 20 minutes, I know, I know!" He looked at me, shocked.

"Late?" He asked. "Late?!" He grit his teeth. "Those are the least of my worries! You're bleeding!"

"I think my ankle's broken, too." I said cheerfully, though still in pain.

"Jira–!"

"Vergil, watch out!"

The demon had teleported again, right behind us this time. Vergil performed another of his super human jumps and was twenty feet away in an instant. He landed gracefully on one foot, very lightly, but even that minimal jar was enough to make me cry out in sudden agony. He held me close for a moment.

"Which leg is it?" He asked, voice low in my ear.

"Left." I panted, then: "Hurts."

"I'm going to put you down." He whispered, lowering me. "Brace on your right foot, and on me."

I didn't answer him, it took too much energy. I stood gingerly on my right foot, left leg poised in the air behind me. I slipped an arm around his waist as his wound around my shoulders.

It was then I learned the source of the blue light.

Vergil raised his free hand above his head as the demon advanced on us. As I watched, his face intensified into a mask of concentration so complete it was like he had totally forgotten the dire situation. Though the look lasted only for a moment, it was clear his will was very, very strong.

Then, above that strong, gloved hand a light burst into being. The cerulean was a shade darker than Vergil's eyes, and burned like a small sun. As I watched, it seemed to bubble and slide, shifting into an oblong, sharp shape.

A sword.

With a growl, Vergil's arm shot forward, launching the spectral weapon straight at the demon. The thing attempted to dodge, and was pinned in the right shoulder. It dropped it scythe and howled, making my ears ring.

"Holy–!" I gasped. Vergil grinned and looked down at me.

"I don't need weapons of steel to be dangerous."

There was no more time for conversation, however, because the thing seemed to have recovered. The conjured blade had shrunk and disappeared while we were talking, and the demon had recovered its scythe. Vergil raised his hand again and shot two swords this time, so quickly that the were little more than an after image streaking through the empty air.

The creature was impaled in each eye.

It howled like a drowning cat for a long moment, then fell to its knees. Its skeletal hands clutched at the swords, and it managed to pull one out of its eye, though the eye came with it. It then collapsed into a pile of sand, leaving an oily black cloak and newly-mundane scythe behind.

"Vergil..." I said, shaking. He lowered me to the ground.

"Don't you _ever_ run off like that again, Jira, do you hear me?" His hands were like manacles on my wrists. "Don't _ever_!"

"I didn't think I'd–" I didn't get to finish that sentence, because at that precise moment, Vergil decided to completely break character and sweep me up into a hug.

"Oh, Vergil..." I said, still shaking. I clung to him. "I thought I was going to –"

"Don't." He snapped. "Don't even allude to it." His embrace tightened. "I told you I'd come when you called, did I not?" I didn't understand, and tried to push myself out of his arms to look at him. He wouldn't let me go. I spoke into his chest, too tired to argue.

"I didn't call– you were too far away–"

"Jira." This time it was he who broke away. He held me at arm's length. "You did call." His eyes were intense.

"I don't understand." I said slowly, because I truly did not. He drew me back into his arms.

"I heard you." He said. "I saw what you envisioned as you thought you were about to be... about to be killed. You thought of me." He looked into my eyes for a moment, intense.

"I heard you calling, and I came."

* * *

**

* * *

**

AUTHOR TIME

Jira called across the blood tie. Woot. Sorry it's slightly shorter than normal; there was only one event in this story, and I couldn't drag it out for much lnoger than I did... forgive me (bows)

**So, how'd you like it? She kept thinking about Vergil and kept calling his name in her mind, and I thought it would work well... I dunno. Did it? He promised he'd come if she called in last chapter, so I thought it was time he made good on it. Yay!** **Notice that Jira grabbed her necklace as she thought about death... **

**Anyway, how are you guys? I'd love to hear from all of you!** **If any of you have any suggestions for ANYTHING, run 'em by me. I'm open, always!**

**CAPCOM owns DEVIL MAY CRY**

**VIRM. Owns JIRA&STORYLINE**


	21. Chapter 20: PhoneCall Conversations

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

_Chapter 20:_

"**Phone-Call Conversations"

* * *

**

"Get caught in a wood chipper?"

My head shot up. It was Eric.

"Well?" He asked. He was standing over me, hands on his hips, scowl plastered across his face. It was my first day back at school after my one-week absence succeeding the demon incident. I had taken the leave in order to recover a bit before returning. Now I was able to actually_ walk,_ at the very least...

"Not quite." I replied, blushing. I had been waiting for him beneath the tree. "Nothing quite that dramatic, at least..." That was a lie, but he didn't need to know.

I bet I did look a fright, though. My left foot was in a cast that extended all the way up to my knee, and my face was covered in scratches I had sustained from the branches whipping across my cheeks and nose as I ran from that beast. My hands and arms were covered completely in bandages: I had banged up my hands very badly when I had slid down that slope, and had gotten copious amounts of gravel and dirt in the scrapes. Those self-same bandages covered most of my torso as well in order to bind the slash across my back, though they were concealed by a sweatshirt. I felt like I had been hit by a train.

"Sure." Eric said, plopping himself down beside me. "You're banged up, yeah, but why were you gone a full week?" His gaze was steady, firm. I sighed.

"It hurt to move." I said truthfully. "Look! I have a cane! Isn't it neat?"

I did indeed have a cane to aid me in walking, and I was pretty much immobile without it. Vergil had gotten it for me somewhere, and it looked like an antique. It was made of heavy black wood with a sterling silver dragon wrapped around the shaft. Its head formed the hand grip.

"It is kinda cool..." Eric admitted, eyeing it balefully. "But I'd rather you not need it, really."

"Me too." I concurred.

"Care to fill me in on what happened?" He asked again, words more of a statement than a question. I grinned sheepishly.

"Fell down a hill." I muttered. "A rocky one." He quirked an eyebrow, and I continued.

"Me and Verge went hiking." I explained. "I wore the wrong shoes."

"Ah." He said, nodding at my newly-scuffed converse. His brown eyes turned suspicious. "Who's Verge?"

"Er..." I stuttered. Why was I embarrassed?

"Your boyfriend?" Eric asked casually. His look was apathetic.

"Oh, no, nothing like that." I laughed, raising a hand. "He's my guardian."

"Oh, okay." He brightened considerably. "Cool. What's he like?" He looked genuinely interested.

"Well..." I took a deep breath. "He's cold, really... towards strangers, anyway. He's nice if you get to know him." I thought for a moment, I'd never really thought about him like this before. "Smart... and controlling." I met Eric's eyes. "He freaked when he saw you." Eric's brow furrowed.

"Freaked? Why?" He looked confused, and I laughed.

"You could say Vergil's overly protective, at best. Scared another guy'd hurt me or something." He looked appalled.

"Me? I wouldn't hurt a fly!" He did his best to look innocent.

"I know." I giggled. "It tried to tell him that, but..." I sobered, and stared at the cane I had clutched in my bandaged hands. "He doesn't like to share me, I guess."

"Hm..." Eric sat quietly for a long moment before looking at me. Then he brightened. "You like music, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" I wondered absently at the out-of-the-blue remark. What had brought this on?

"I have a gig on Friday!" He announced. "I'm in a band with some older dudes I know, and I'm the guitarist." He grinned. "Wanna come see us play?"

"Of course!" I smiled. "Where're ya'll holding it?"

"'The Hole,' a metal/techno club down on Main and 3rd Street." His brown eyes were clear. "Anybody can come, but they don't serve alcohol unless you're of age and have an I.D."

"That's cool." I said. "No drinking then."

"I've already told m'mates all about you!" He chattered. "They wanna meet you. I told 'em you were cool."

"Did you, now?" I asked, surprised. He blushed slightly.

"Well..." He muttered. "My friends are all outta school, so having a friend my own age is different, to say the least..." He rolled his eyes. "They were convinced I'd remain friendless 'til the end of high school." I laughed at that.

"Hey!" Eric sat up straighter, eyes sparkling. "Can you sing at all, J?"

"A little bit." I admitted. "I can carry a bit of a tune, but nothing totally spectacular or anything..." I shrugged.

"Maybe you could do a number with us or something." He looked serious. "Girl singers are wicked in rock bands." He thought for a moment, eyes intense. "That'd be_ cool_."

"I'll think about it." I said slowly. In truth, I thought it would be rather fun. "I might chicken out though, I'm a shy girl." He laughed at me.

"You, shy?" He chuckled incredulously. "Right... just trying to get out of it, I understand."

"No, that's not it–" I tried to amend, but he cut me off.

"No, no, really, if you think we're just dumb, dead end rockers, I'll understand–" His eyes glittered in mock hurt.

"Fine, fine, I'll do it." I snapped.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist into the air. "Shaming you into it _worked_..."

He grinned. I glowered.

"Be grateful, you ingrate." His smile widened.

"Come to my place after school. The guys'll be there, and we can see what you can do." My heart fluttered.

"Can't I sing for just _you_ first?" I asked, suddenly apprehensive. He thought a moment, then nodded.

"Fine. They'll show up after a while." He rose to his feet. "You'll like them, I'm sure." I took his proffered hand and allowed him to help me up.

"I'll have to call Vergil though..." I said slowly, dreading it. He shrugged.

"Call from the office during lunch or something." He offered. I nodded.

"I somehow doubt he'll be thrilled..."

He wasn't.

* * *

"_No."_

"But Verge–"

"_I said 'no!'"_

"But why not?" I asked for the millionth time, peeved. I was currently leaning against the principal's desk with one hand, phone in the other. Eric held my cane, and I glanced at him while making a face that expressed the hopelessness of the situation. "He's just gonna listen to me sing a number or two, and–"

"_It's not proper to have you go to some strange boy's house without a chaperone." _His voice was patronizing.

"Hypocrite." I sniffed.

"_... just what is _that _supposed to mean?" _He asked slowly.

"Think, Sherlock... I _live_ with _you._"

"_That's different!"_ He growled, appalled. I laughed.

"Sure." I grinned into the mouth piece, knowing I had struck gold. "Whatever you say, Verge."

"_Jira..."_ I could just see him standing there in the kitchen, running his hand through his hair, face stony but eyes desperate._ "I just don't like him–"_

"Must I remind you? _You've never even met him!_" I was getting pissed. "You've no right to judge him!" There was silence on his end for a long moment, then:

"_Fine. I'll meet him, if only to put your mind at ease if nothing else." _His words didn't process right away. I waited for him to continue, stupefied, and when he did not, I spoke:

"Huh?"

"_Eloquent as always, aren't we...?"_

"Shut it, Vergil." I snapped. I heard him sigh.

"_I'll pick you up after school--" _He said wearily, voice crackling slightly over the phone's connection._ "–and I'll take you over there; you can't ride his motorcycle in your condition."_

"How did you know he had a bike?" I asked, jaw dropped but eyes narrowed. He didn't answer me, just continued:

"_You'll introduce us. Then I can at last judge for myself." _He took a breath._ "Sound good?" _I chewed my bottom lip for a moment.

"Lemme run it by Eric." I turned to him then, muffling the phone against my shoulder.

"He wants to meet you." I whispered. Eric looked startled.

"What? Why?"

"I dunno." I snapped. "Just does. He'll take me over to your house after school, then meet you, then scram, I guess... sound good?" Eric nodded.

"I'll draw a map later." He said with a grin. I smiled back, then lifted the phone to my ear.

"That'll do, Verge." I said to Vergil cheerfully. "See you later."

"_Stay safe, Jira."_ Vergil said in a curt voice, though not an unkind one. I heard a click and then the dial tone, so he must have hung up. I set the phone into its cradle slowly, reaching out to Eric for my cane.

"We're all set." I smiled. Eric grinned as he handed me my cane, shooting me a thumbs-up.

"C'mon, invalid. Time for class." His smile was a comfort. He led the way out of the office, and I hobbled after, feeling good about the day to come.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME **

**Blah blah blah next chappie is better. Actually has some sort of plot-ish mess. Thanks for all the reviews/favs/etc guys! You all rock!**

**You guys are insane! INSAAAAAAAANE!!!!!! Ya'll have given me 2359 hits on this thing! Dammit! I feel so grateful, you guys have no idea!!!**

**VIRM. is the creator of JIRA&ERIC**

**CAPCOM is the creator of VERGIL&DEVILMAYCRY**


	22. Chapter 21: Grudgingly Similar

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 21:_

"**Grudgingly Similar"

* * *

**

"Ya see, you take this street about four blocks until you see the upside-down stop sign, then you–"

I wasn't paying attention as Eric outlined the directions he had hastily scrawled on the back of my math homework. I was too wrapped up in my own frayed nerves.

I had been fretting all day about it. My new best friend facing off with the overly-protective man running my life. Joy. Can anyone spell bloodbath?

"Jianna!"

"Huh?" I was abruptly snapped out of my reverie at the sound of Eric's voice.

"You got all that?" He asked. Judging by his face, he was nervous too.

"Yeah." I murmured. "Vergil's good with directions, so even if I forget..." I shrugged. Eric nodded.

"True." He relented. "Anyway, I–"

He didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say because at that moment the dismissal bell rang. I stumbled to my feet, cast weighing me down like a black plaster anchor.

"Well, I guess I should go meet Verge." I looked away. "Brace yourself, he's a mean one." I heard Eric laugh, and then I turned to look at him.

"I can handle myself." He grinned. I grinned back, but inside my heart was fluttering rather anxiously–

–because I wasn't so sure he could.

* * *

"Howdy." I said cheerily as I climbed into the car. I settled my cane across my lap. "Ready to go?"

"Map?" Vergil asked, not looking at me. I handed it to him wordlessly. He glanced at it for a long moment then sneered. "Messy."

"Jackass." I said blandly, staring dispassionately out the windshield. "You just gotta find _something_ wrong with him, don't you?" I felt Vergil bristle, but he remained silent.

We navigated the streets leading to Eric's home with relative ease; his directions were accurate even if they were a little bit messy. Vergil did not say a word the entire way there.

* * *

"We're here." Vergil said coldly, finally speaking. I looked out the window, heart pounding.

Eric's house wasn't huge, but neither was it very small. There were two stories, lots of windows, red brick, and creeping vines. It reminded me of my house back home– I banished the thought, suddenly homesick.

"Let's roll." I quipped, flashing Vergil a grin. He didn't say anything.

I bounded up to the front porch– well, tried to bound. My cast and cane were something of a hindrance, and in complete honesty Vergil actually beat me to the door. I smiled at him as I pounded the bronze, lion-head door-knocker on the tall oak portal. His mouth twitched, then straightened, but his eyes glittered. I could tell my smile had made him a_ bit_ less annoyed, if not totally happy. I wagged a finger at him.

"Be nice." I said, pinning him with my best imitation of his patent glare. He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Maybe." I said crossly, folding my arms over my chest, cane clutched in hand. He chuckled dryly.

"Your technique needs work. It's like being threatened by a kitten." He smirked. My jaw dropped.

"Kitten?" I spluttered, indignant. "_Kitten_?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened. I turned away from him, thanking whatever deity that happened to be listening for the intervention, and was promptly bowled over by one hundred and twenty pounds of flying fur.

"What the–?" I gasped as my back hit the sidewalk with a thud. A long pink tongue was currently attacking my face with utter abandon, and I raised an arm to ward it off, without much success.

"Get _off!"_ I heard Eric's voice bark a sharp command, and the doggish burden was lifted off my chest. I sat up, winded. Eric was at my side in an instant, and Vergil was crouched a few feet off, restraining a wriggling German Shepard by the collar. When I had recovered sufficiently, I asked Eric:

"Izzat yours?"

"Yeah." Eric said glumly, helping me to my feet.

"Meet Vergil."

* * *

I felt my eyes widen.

"The dog's named 'Vergil?'"

"Uh-huh. Guess I didn't mention it before." He said glumly, eyeing the human(ish) Vergil warily. "He won't... bite..."

I giggled at that, because I wasn't exactly sure if he was inquiring about _my_ Vergil, or informing me about the disposition of the canine in question. Both were rather wolf-like.

"Thanks for hauling 'im off of J." Eric said quietly. My Vergil sneered. Eric's Vergil panted.

"So you're Eric." Vergil spat, eyes blazing. "See that this dog stays away from Jianna, you incompetent f–"

"Vergil!" I gasped, appalled. "Be nice!"

"Don't berate me, Jianna!" He snarled. The dog whimpered. "This mutt could have very well injured you further, and I will not have–"

"He just likes people!" Eric said acidly, gritting his teeth. "He got excited, that's all! He couldn't help himself!"

"If you knew the nature for the dog and could foresee him attacking–"

"He didn't attack her!"

"Well then what do you call–"

Their jabs at each other began to rise in volume.

I couldn't take it.

"Could you two please just SHUT UP!?" I yelled loudly, stomping over to stand between them before they came to blows.

They both stared in shocked silence, mouths agape. The dog hung its head.

"Why do the two of you have to go all 'Alpha male' on me over a stupid _dog_?" I growled. "Even _he's _acting more admirably than the two of you, and he's the only one of us with_ wolves_ for cousins!"

Just to illustrate my point, I strode over to the four-legged Vergil, ignored the human (again, ISH) one, and began to vigorously scratch behind the thing's ears.

"Good boy." I murmured, making sure the upright Vergil could hear. "Unlike your master... or your namesake." Vergil's grip on Vergil's collar loosened slightly. I straightened, glared at my Vergil for a long moment, then turned so I could look at them both.

"Make up." I said simply. "I dunno how you men do it, but square this away."

Neither of them moved, and I sibilantly hissed:

"Now!"

They both looked at me for a long moment, looked at each other, and shrugged simultaneously. My lips twitched and I repressed a grin; they were a lot alike and didn't seem to realize it.

Vergil, still restraining the dog, held out his right hand, exuding an awkward grace. Eric strode over, grabbed the proffered appendage fiercely and shook it.

"I'm Eric Major."

"Vergil Redgrave."

I expected them to immediately let go of one another, but they did not release their grip. They just stood, staring each other down, and I noticed with a start that sweat had beaded on Eric's tanned brow, that smirk had spread across Vergil's lips. Veins had begun to pop out along Eric's lean arms, and I realized, jolted, that they were having one of those weird, male 'grip-contests.'

I was about to jump in an break them up when they let go. Eric breathed a sigh and grabbed hold of the dog's collar. Vergil looked satisfied as he stepped back.

"I'll be back later." He said simply. He strode back to the car, calling over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Jianna. Eric."

I watched him go with mixed feelings, then thought:

_He is _**so **_going to get it when I get home...

* * *

_

**AUTHOR TIME**

**Sorry, chapter too long, had to split it. Next one: Jira sings, she meets band. Fun fun. Vergil and her fight. EEEEEEE!**

**Hee hee hee dog's named Vergil! One of the ways I characterize people is by likening them to a canine counter-part, and I've always seen Vergil's as a rather wolf-like German Shepard. I couldn't resist putting that in there.**

**Has anyone else had trouble posting chapters? I can't put anything up!**

**I'd like to thank: Kay, nyx, Todesengel, Vynenight, Punkrocker505, BlackLadyCharon, AinoUtenia, &Chrome for reviewing. Others too, but I'm out of time so I can't list.**

**JIRA&STROY belong to VIRM**

**VERGIL/DMC to CAPCOM**


	23. Chapter 22: Can She Sing?

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

_Chapter 22:_

"**Can She Sing?"

* * *

**

Eric's room was located above his garage, and was the standard meeting place for him and his band-mates.

Records and posters covered the walls, and amps, instruments, and speakers systems were everywhere. Mismatched couches and recliners were scattered all over the room, giving the area a relaxing, casual quality. There was also recording equipment in a large, tinted glass case on one wall.

The two men and two women occupying the room turned to look at us as we walked (well, Eric walked, I hobbled) into the room.

"Hey." Eric said casually, shutting the door behind me. "This is Jianna." Everyone rose from their spots and approached.

"Hello." I said cautiously. Eric placed a reassuring hand between my shoulder blades to steady me.

"Introduce yourselves, guys." Eric said brightly. One of the men, clad in a Metallica t-shirt and leather pants, spoke.

"I'm Avery." He said, flipping me a wink. He had a nice smile, but it was marred by the three piercings that graced his lower lip. His ears and eyebrows were similarly bedecked, and he wore his long blonde hair in a low, loose ponytail. His eyes twinkled behind his black horn-rimmed glasses, and his face was rather gaunt.

"Nice to meet you." I smiled at him, noticing that --despite the facial metal-- he was very, very handsome. I looked away from him as another band member stepped forward:

"The names Jud." He said quietly. This man was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans, had buzzed brown hair, and no piercings. His grey eyes were solemn. "It is very nice to finally meet you, Jianna." I grinned at him, taking in his muscular, tall frame with some trepidation.

"You, too." I liked him a bit better than Avery. He was less flamboyant.

He was then shouldered out of the way by a tall, lean woman with flame red hair, nails, and lipstick. Her dress and pumps were burgundy, and her eyes were hazel.

"And I–" She said dramatically. "– am Bree." She had her head cocked to one side and was standing balanced on one foot. "Lovely to see you!" She gushed. I cringed inside.

"Y-you, too." I stammered, taken aback by her overly-chipper attitude. Her grin widened.

"You're just as pretty as Eric said!" I blushed at that (so did Eric, for that matter), and she continued. "We'll get Miranda to fix you right up!"

"Fix?" I asked, confused. "What do you mean, 'fixed?'"

"Don't worry about it." The last woman had spoken. She was a small, petit blonde with a long fountain of a ponytail waterfalling down her back. She was dressed like a goth Lolita. "I'm the band's image consultant." She held out a hand for me to shake, which I took. "I do makeup and costumes and shit."

"Gotcha." I said, unsure of how I should act. "Well... um..." I was spared any further embarrassment as Jud spoke up:

"Let's sit down. Jianna's leg's broken." His face remained solemn, and I absently wondered if Eric had told him that little fact before hand. Miranda sighed.

"Ever the gentleman, aren't we Jud?" Jud smiled faintly but didn't say anything.

"We need to practice that number I was talking about." Spoke up Avery. "Jud, Bree, come with me please." The three of them walked over to the far side of the room and began pouring over sheet music. I settled myself down in an armchair. Miranda and Eric followed suit.

* * *

"A couple of things you should know." I jumped, Miranda was speaking to me. Her blue eyes were friendly but businesslike. "We–"

"Don't jump on her like that, Mir." Eric said crossly. "She's nervous enough as it is."

"I'm not nervous!" I said waspishly, though the statement was a lie. Eric rolled his eyes.

"As I was saying, there's things you need to know." Miranda looked less intense after his reprimand, and for that I was grateful. I got enough intensity at home from anothe blue-eyed individual... I snapped my attention back to the here-and-now.

"One: Avery–" she dropped her voice "–is a womanizer. You're a hottie, so watch your back."

I wasn't sure what to make of a girl I didn't know from jack calling me hot, so I let it slide.

"Two: Bree's real name is Bryan."

"Excuse me?" I said, confused. "Her–"

"That's just it." Miranda grinned and sighed. "'_Her._' Bree's not a chick. He's a drag queen, but he's the best drummer in town so we're beyond caring." I nodded.

"So do I say 'he' or 'she?'" I asked, more than a little confused.

"She." Miranda replied. Eric laughed.

"Bree gets touchy when you call him a he." Eric's mouth quirked as he tried not to chortle.

"So Bree's the drummer?" I asked, hoping for a subject change. "I woulda figured a guitar or something. More feminine."

"Nah." Eric yawned. "Jud's the bassist, I'm the guitarist. Ave plays some, too, but only secondary." He glanced over at the other band members. "I'm gonna go make sure they're on task over there. Be back in a sec." He rolled lazily to his feet and shuffled over to them.

"Okaaaaaay..." I muttered, not understanding any of what he had just said. I turned to Miranda. "And Mir? You're the what again?"

"Backup vocals and costume. My voice is too weak for lead vocals." She said offhandedly, surveying her nails. She looked up at me and smiled. "But I also do techy crap. That's my favourite part. Cool cane, by the way." I grinned and thanked her.

"Has Eric made you sing yet?" She asked, leaning forward in her seat, angling herself towards me. I shook my head.

"He said he and I'd do that in private, but..." I laughed awkwardly. "I'm nervous." She nodded sagely. Then her eyes lit up.

"Here's a plan." She said. "While they're occupied over there, you and I'll sing along to the radio or something, just us girls. Y'know, to get you loosened up and all."

"That... actually sounds good." I said, surprised. She flipped me a wink as she rose and walked over to the stereo. She fiddled with the knobs for a moment, popped in a CD, then sat back down.

"Let's pray you know some of this." She crossed her fingers, exaggerating for effect.

I didn't know the first three songs, and had heard the fourth only twice. The fifth track, however, was gold.

_I've got a candle_

_And I've got a spoon_

_I live in a hallway with no doors_

_And no rooms_

I hummed the first few bars under my breath, then stopped as I noticed Miranda watching me intently. I grinned, embarrassed.

"Don't be shy." She said, eyes kind. "I'll sing too."

_Under a windowsill_

_They all were found_

_A touch of concrete within the doorway_

_Without a sound_

I listened to her voice as she sang. Miranda's tone was rather reedy and high, but she was able to accurately hit all of the notes and obviously knew her way around the musical scale very well. Her voice _was_ rather weak, but not terribly so.

Then the chorus came around, and I raised my voice to join with hers.

_Someone save me if you will_

_And take away all these pills_

_And please just save me if you can_

_From my blasphemy_

_In my wasteland_

I stopped as I saw her staring at me out of the corner of her eye. She noticed my hesitation and wagged a finger at me.

"C'mon, girl, you're doing great, don't let up now!" I nodded as the song blared on.

The verse's plaintive tone echoed through the room, and I soon found myself lost.

I've always been susceptible to music. Music drives the soul, gives it life and purpose. Ever since I was a little girl, a sassy little brat of a child being passed from one unfamiliar relative to the next, I had loved music. My voice had developed over time, and while I was far from perfect, I was no longer an amateur.

I let my anxiousness fly as I was swept up in intense, hearted chorus, was blown away as the zenith of the melody cascaded over my existence. Goose bumps rose along my arms, crept maddeningly down my back, congregated at the base of my spine, a sweet firestorm of sensation.

_Jump in the water  
Jump in with me  
Jump on the altar  
Lay down with me _

The hardest question to answer  
Is why

Why?

I let loose, allowing the notes to rip from my lungs as they reached a peak, reached a peak and held for a long, long moment.

It was bliss, yes, but it was not the climax.  
_  
Someone save me if you will  
And take away all these pills  
And please just save me if you canFrom my blasphemy in my wasteland _

Someone save me  
Someone save me  
Somebody save me  
Somebody save me  
Please don't erase me!

It was then, on that last, soul tearing note that the crescendo hit, sweet and overwhelming.

I fell back to earth.

As my voice drifted down, as I floated down from my music-induced high, I realized that the room was utterly silent.

Then somebody whistled.

"Hoo-boy." Avery said slowly. "Wow."

"_Told_ ya she'd be perfect." Eric said smugly.

"That was marvelous!" Bree crowed, hands clapping so quickly they were little more than a red-nailed blur.

"You have a good range." Jud nodded slowly. "Very nice."

"I like her tone." Avery said seriously, staring unabashedly. "Husky... yet electric. That'll be great for that new number we've been meaning to do..."

"See?" Miranda leapt to her feet and did a little dance of what looked like joy. "Nothing to worry about, Jianna! Screw those nerves!"

"Thanks..." I mumbled, blood rushing into my pale cheeks. "It was nothing, really..."

"That settles it." Eric said firmly. "You're going to do a gig with us. Maybe not this next one, but the next."

"O-okay." I stammered. "Sure." I brightened up a bit. "When's the next practice?"

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**Sorry, no Vergil in this chapter. You would not BELIEVE how hard a time I had writing this thing. SO forced, SO choppy, SO dumb. **

**He'll get it next chapter, though. Just you wait.**

**The reason I gave Jira a good singing voice is because I felt that she needed a talent. She can't draw worth crap (stick figures are about it), is only a so-so actor(Take Musical Theater class for example... she got the 'music' part, but the 'theater' bit...hoo-boy...), and her only other 'talents' are being a bookworm and being a sarcastic little bitch when she gets impatient. She needed at least ONE redeeming feature...**

**Well, yeah, ho-hum. The theater production I was in went... okay, I guess. First performance was a DISASTER, but the others were good. The lead was AMAZING, as was the tech crew. I LOVE THOSE TECHIES TO PIECES!!!!! I have to start another production soon, though, so updates will be fewer come January or Feb. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say 'goodbye...'"**

**I described Miranda as being dressed like a 'goth Lolita,' and if you do not know what that means, I shall tell you now: A Lolita is a style of dress where youth and innocence are expressed through clothing. (Lolita is also a book). Think Alice in Wonderland outfit, only gothic and with short-ass skirts and tall boots. There you go. Also a bit like Misa Amane from Death Note. Look her up for more info.**

**Anyway, how'd you like this chapter? I got a friend to edit this (no one usually does, but I let her read it ahead of time just randomly) and they were all like:**

"**Wow, SJ, you're so descriptive about the climax in the song, you're gonna be good at erotica..."**

**And that got me thinking (oh, the horror!). **

**If anybody in the story DOES have sex, should I just throw it to the wind and write it all out in a big, juicy piece in excruciating detail? Or should I just allude to it at the end of a chapter and start the next one with the whole 'morning after' bit? I have to do morning after either way, but w/e... GIMME FEEDBACK ON THIS ISSUE!!!!!! IF YOU DO, I'LL GIVE YOU A COOKIE!!!!!!! LET THE READERS DECIDE!!! THE VOTING POLLS ARE OPEN!!!!!!!!!**

**Sorry this "author time" was so long. I just had a lot to say... Ciao! And remember:**

**COOKIES for VOTES!!!!!**

**Song, "SAVE ME" © the (totally awesome)band SHINEDOWN**

**Jira, Eric, & CO. © VIRM./ S.J.**

**DMC/Vergil © CAPCOM**


	24. Chapter 23: Various Disagreements

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

_Chapter 23:_

"**Various Disagreements"

* * *

**

"Jira, how was your–"

"Shut it, Verge. I have nothing to say to you."

Vergil's mouth snapped shut with a clacking sound as I coldly cut him off.

I had just climbed into the car after having left Eric's house. I had been assigned songs to practice on my own, and had been given an outfit to wear at our first gig together. I wouldn't be performing in the up-and-coming gig, though; I would just be watching to get a feel for their sound. The next one, however --taking place the following week at a different location-- I would be singing the last two numbers in. I was nervous, but I could hardly wait.

Vergil shifted in his seat as he deftly backed out of Eric's driveway.

"I just wanted to hear about your time."

"Yeah, and criticize Eric for every little thing he does, right? Fat chance, bub." I snapped.

"Seriously!" I continued, throwing my hands into the air. "Why do you have to be so anal about everything?" I glared at Vergil until he looked at me. His eyes were solemn.

"Actually, I was going to do nothing of the sort." He said, voice quiet. I raised an eyebrow.

"Really now." I said, unconvinced. "Well, what _were_ you going to say then, pray tell?" He looked back at the road.

"I was going to tell you that I will tolerate Eric being one of your companions." His hands tightened on the steering wheel as his look turned sour. "For the time being, at least..." I stared at him, flabbergasted.

"You practically _attacked_ him earlier!" I said slowly, feeling nothing but disbelief. "And now you_ like_ him?"

"I never said I liked him!" Vergil snapped, eyes ablaze. "Just that I'd tolerate him!" I decided not to argue that point, and instead opted for an explanation.

"Why the change of heart?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

"He's... got a back bone." He said slowly. I snorted, and he glanced at me quizzically, cobalt eyes bored-looking yet questioning.

"You mean 'he didn't take my shit lying down,' right?" I giggled. "He stood up to you? And, lemme guess, you respect that?"

"... more or less." Vergil relented. His caught my gaze and held it, his intensely-hued eyes steady.

"In that respect, he reminded me of you."

* * *

"I don't need babysitting, Vergil."

"Too bad."

Vergil led me swiftly through the glass double doors and past "The Hole's" bouncers, flashing his I.D. as we went. His arm was wound tightly around my shoulders, keeping me close so I wouldn't get lost in the crowd. The pulsating strobe lights and pounding techno were disorienting, and I was suddenly afraid for my injured appendage.

_I'm lucky Vergil's here... _I thought to myself._ He'll keep me from getting further maimed, at the very least..._

We had barely made it inside when Eric popped out of nowhere to greet me. His wide grin faltered when he caught sight of my scowling, white-crowned companion.

"Er... hi." He said cautiously. "I didn't think you'd _both_ be coming... Jianna... Mr...?" He fished for a name; I'd never told him what to address Vergil as, and I cursed inwardly.

"Redgrave." Vergil clarified. Eric stared silently at him for a long moment, looking strangely mystified, then laughed nervously.

"You don't say." He said quietly. He promptly perked up. "I've found a great spot for you guys to sit!"

* * *

"So you're a friend of Eric's, huh?"

"Mm-hm, that I am."

I was currently sitting behind one of the three bars located in "The Hole," or the club we had come to see Eric perform at. Vergil and I had been there for about an hour since Eric had found this spot for us. It was very close to the stage, but me and my broken leg would not get trampled upon if any moshing broke out. Eric was friends with the barkeep, Bobby, who was happy to let Vergil and I sit and keep him company.

"He and his buds are pretty good." Bobby laughed as he poured a beer for a barfly. He was a tall, lean man with a shaved head and a hawk-like nose, and his booming voice could be heard clearly even over the veritable roar of music and dancers. "That Avery– man, has he got some pipes!"

"Really?" I asked, fidgeting. I was truly beyond caring; I just wanted the damn show to start. "When do you think they'll begin?" Bobby glanced at his watch.

"Oh, soon, I expect." He grinned at me as he poured another drink. "Can I get you a drink to pass the time?"

"She's underage." Vergil spoke up. I glared at him as Bobby eyed him nervously.

"Gotcha." He said, then turned back to me. Vergil remained silent, eyes fixated on the stage.

"That's a new one. Eric's never had any young friends before." His smile shrank a fraction. "'Bout time the kid got a friend his age..." He glanced past me then looked up at the stage, abandoning his train of thought.

"They're starting." He remarked. I violently twisted around on my tall stool, craning my head. Eric, Avery, Jud, Bree, and Miranda were all indeed assembled on stage.

"Oh, God..." I murmured as I watched Avery step up to the microphone.

"Yo." He said cheerfully. His long blonde hair had been left loose; it brushed his shoulder-blades in long, golden ripples. "We're _Chiasmus_."

'_Chiasmus?'_ I thought, perplexed at their choice._ Is that their name? I can't believe I never thought to ask..._

"'_Chiasmus?_'" Vergil scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of name is that?"

"Shut up." I said frankly, not bothering with a direct answer. I could almost feel his glower bore into the back of my skull despite his (seemingly-docile) silence.

Avery, Jud, and Eric all wore similar outfits consisting of, but not limited to, black jackets and pants, chains, studs, and leather belts and straps. Avery was the most flamboyantly dressed, and Jud was the most conservative. Miranda was in her normal attire: short skirt and petticoats, tall boots, ribbons, and skin. Bree was in a long, sleek, off-the shoulder dress that was a deep violet in colour.

They settled themselves behind their instruments, laughing and joking in an easy manner. The crowd cheered and jostled each other as they tuned up their instruments for a long moment, and then Avery raised a hand for silence.

_Chaismus_ began to play.

* * *

"That was _amazing_!" I said, delighted. "Positively _amazing_!"

Vergil didn't reply, simply sat there, driving us home in silence.

"I mean– Avery can_ sing_! And Jud– that bass was _excellent_!" I was grinning from ear to ear as I ranted, exhilarated.

They had played some of their original songs, then ended with a cover of _The Who_'s song "Baba O'Riley." Their sound was not quite metal but not quite punk, and had the ability to make the listener want to get up and dance. In short, they were wonderful.

"I mean, they were so in-sync with one another; like they could read each other's minds!" I smiled happily at Vergil. "Don't you think so?"

He did not provide an answer or look at me, and my face fell.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked bluntly. His silence was ticking me off. "You didn't like their music or something?" He took a hand off of the wheel and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You're just so happy." He said quietly, face melancholy.

"Happy?" I repeated, unable to comprehend, and then: "_Happy!_?" My jaw dropped. "You're mad because I had a _good time_?! What the hell's up with that?"

"I can't win, can I?" He asked, face expressionless. He stared at me out of the corners of his blue, blue eyes.

"Well, yeah when you get all pissy because of some dumb_ shit_ like that you _certainly_ don't have a winning hand." I mumbled gruffly, crossing my arms. "Why in the world should you get pissed off when I feel happy for once?"

"That's just it." Vergil snapped, suddenly impatient. I couldn't tell if his intense tone was meant for myself... or for him. "_'For once_.'"

"You've lost me." I said slowly as I shook my head. He growled in the back of his throat, then spoke.

"You smile... but never for me." His features were suddenly sad, more sad than I had ever seen. "Always for someone else, and I can only watch from the side lines."

I stared at him, fingers going numb as they gripped the cane's dragon-headed shaft in a death-lock. I had had no idea he felt this way.

"I'm... sorry?" I offered, unsure of how to act. Vergil didn't look at me.

"Don't be." Was all he would say.

* * *

**

* * *

**

AUTHOR TIME

**Sorry, yet another uneventful chapter. I HAD to post SOMETHING though, even if it was as crap-tastic as THIS. I didn't do anything... I didn't describe the band in full... I had planned to make Jira drink, but realized it work better elsewhere (she's a WEIRD ASS DRUNK) so I scrapped that... Rreally, this chap doesn't add much, except for Vergil feeling a little bit depressed with her being happy for someone else, but never for him. But you know, whatever... (acts all apathetic and shit)**

**I made another fan-fiction. It's for the manga "Eyeshield 21." It's actually the third fan-fic I ever wrote, and I am simply editing it from its eighth-grade state to a more mature one. It's not as good as this or the Influx, in my opinion, but I still like it. It features the pairing of Shin and an OC. What can I say, I like writing OC's. I wrote all of the chapters in 8th grade though, so if you read it do not expect a fic with a plot as intricate as BBC's. **

**I deleted the bitching that was here a moment ago! Sorry about that guys... Blame the prozac...**

**Next chap: An EVENT happens that will change Jira's life FOREVER!!! MWAHAHAHA! STAY TUNED!!!!!**

DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM

JIRA&Co. © VIRM.


	25. Chapter 24: I Think I Could Learn

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

_Chapter 24:_

"**I Think I Could Learn..."

* * *

**

"Ow!"

"If you didn't squirm so much–"

"It still would hurt either way, genius!"

Vergil was dabbing disinfectant onto the stitches holding together the demon-made wound gracing my back, re-stitching some of the more loose threads, and sewing some new ones in general. The large slash needed constant care due to its sheer size and depth. Vergil had administered a painkiller, but it wasn't quite strong enough to completely drown out the sting of the needle continuously dipping into my tender flesh.

"Careful!" I winced. Though this had become something of our post-demon-encounter-night-timeritual, I still was not used to the pain required in patching up my stitches.

"Stitches hurt, Jira." I heard Vergil sigh. "This cut is _very_ deep."

"Yeah, well..." I was unable to come up with a retort.

"Finished." Vergil said suddenly. I hopped off of kitchen table I had been sitting on and struggled back into my shirt. I'd been wearing a halter top so he could work with the wound. The demon-induced cut stretched from the top of my right collar bone to the blade of my left shoulder. It hurt like a bitch.

"Do you think it will scar?" I asked dispassionately as I surveyed the meticulous stitches in a mirror.

"Yes." Vergil said, voice flat. "But only a little if we take care of it properly."

"Mm-hm." I said. I yawned; I was tired from the clubbing.

"Get some sleep." Vergil said. I looked at him in the mirror.

"You too, mister." I frowned at him. "You have bags under your eyes." He did indeed have large, bruise-like smudges beneath his brightly-hued eyes. He shrugged.

"I've been busy." His face was blank. I blanched.

"Doing what, staying home every day?" He never seemed to leave his study.

"Research." He said, voice infuriatingly empty.

"What kind of research?" I asked suspiciously. He took a deep breath, emotion finally breaking through his dead (no matter how beautiful) mask of a face.

"Research we need to discuss." His jaw was set. "It will have to come in the morning, though."

"Vague as always." I spat, disgusted. Then I glared at him. "I don't want anymore secrets!" His face softened, though only slightly.

"I suppose... I could tell you now." He said slowly. I relaxed slightly at that.

"Well? Start telling." I commanded, crossing my arms over my chest. He chuckled dryly.

"Impatient as always..." He quipped, using my own phrase against me. He snapped the lid of the medicine box shut and stored it in one of the many cabinets surrounding us. "Let's go into the living room. This may take some time."

I didn't wait for him to follow, simply walked out of the kitchen and into the afore-mentioned space. Glancing at the grandfather-clock set against one wall, I swore.

"It's two-fifteen!" I gasped. Had the gig really lasted that long? I heard Vergil enter the room behind me.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to wait until morning?" He asked dubiously. I shook my head and plopped down onto a couch.

"Nope." I wasn't going to let him weasel out of this. "Tell me. Now. Hop to it."

Vergil eyed me intently as he settled himself into the armchair across from my spot on the couch. He laced his fingers together and regarded me over the top of his entwined digits, and I was forcibly reminded of the posture he had assumed during our sessions back at J.L. Tyler's.

"You once asked me about our age difference." Vergil began. I nodded in affirmation.

"And then you asked about the differences in our rate of aging." I nodded a second time; I had indeed questioned him on numerous occasions about similar matters, and I had not received a straight-forward answer yet.

"You and I... will age in drastically different ways." He said slowly, eyes drifting around the room.

"Go on." I prompted. The news was not surprising; I had surmised as much.

"When you are forty, you will look like a forty year old." His eyes were regretful. "But I... I will appear as you see me now."

"Yeah, so?" I asked. I had again surmised as much. "What's the deal?"

"The deal–" Vergil snapped, suddenly vicious, rocketing forward and out of his chair. He began to pace the room in front of me, prowling like a territorial wolf. "– is that–"

He cut himself off and began to visibly calm himself. He walked back to his seat and sat down, –though he sat on the very edge of his chair– seemingly ready to spring at any moment.

"The blood tie–" He began again. "– Has made you a part of me, and–"

"Why is it that I don't feel this blood tie thing at all?" I asked suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I mean, you talk about it all the time, but I've never used it... except for that one time with that demon..." I unconsciously raised a hand and began to finger the pendant Vergil had given me. "It seems so one-sided."

"It is, at this point." Vergil replied. "I am a demon; I am more attuned to spiritual things than you are." He turned away from me. "You'll feel it when you come of age."

I was suddenly glad that he was turned from me, as my cheeks were turning a very unnatural shade of pink. Every time he mentioned the 'come of age' thing, I felt myself blush uncontrollably. I knew what it implied, and was unsure of how to handle it.

"Well, that's not for another five months." I said nervously, attempting to cover my embarrassment with words. "So... yeah." I finished lamely. "Five months."

He turned back to me.

"But I feel it." He said quietly. The look in his eyes was heart-wrenching: a mix of hurt, depression, and sadness. "And once you are... _gone_, I don't plan on living long without you."

I sat still a moment, digesting his words, taking in their heart-felt meaning.

Then I laughed.

The laugh was humorless.

"You're just saying that because of this blood tie thing." I smiled sadly at him. "I'm a part of you– yes– but not by choice. It was decided for you." I shook my head.

"You say you won't live without me– but you only say that because you've been forced into saying it; you don't actaully feel it of your own free will. You don't want me as me, but as what only_ I_ can be." I met his eyes.

"The blood tie's other half."

I looked down at the cane clutched in my hands, grimacing. "You don't want me as a person, but as what I am. I'm just an object."

I sat in silence for a long moment, waiting for his affirmation that he didn't want me for me, that I was nothing but an object that the blood tie used as a toy, that it wasn't his choice at all and he regretted ever meeting me. I steeled myself for rejection, and then:

"No."

I jerked my head up to look a him, eyes wide in shock and incredulousness. His cobalt eyes were steady as they regarded me openly.

In them I saw sorrow and pain, years and years of it, and I wondered how he had survived his long life without becoming insane. The amount of it pervading his features would've crushed me in a moment, and he bore it all himself. It seemed the world was on his shoulders.

"You couldn't be more wrong."

He stood slowly and approached me, then kneeled. I sat there --utterly still-- as he placed his bare hands on either side of my face. His fingers curled a strand of my hair into place behind my ear, and I shivered from the close contact.

My eyes roved over his features hungrily: that straight aristocrat's nose, those high-boned cheeks, that pale, perfect forehead, and those lips– so sensual for a man, yet somehow evading all femininity.

Yet, despite all this, his blue, blue eyes were the most alluring of them all.

He shut those sea-side eyes before I had drunk my fill of them and spoke again:

"That was the case, at first. But eventually..."

I heard his reply echo through my mind as he coaxed the blood tie into being once again, the brush of this fragment of white-hot truth more precious than even the warmth of his hands against my cheek:

_Jira..._

_I think I could learn to love you.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**_

**(Vir M. Creeps in, wraith-like, flicks on lights, and quietly posts this chapter)**

**So I just had a fit of inspiration in the last twenty minutes or so... I dunno if this will be received well at ALL... but who knows? Did you hate this? Love it? As a formal apology for that last,_ awful _chapter, I give you this bit of fluff. It looks like everyone's favourite odd couple has taken another step towards felicity...** **The rest of Vergil's surprising revelation comes next chapter. No ,this is not THE EVENT I alluded to, but it _is_ the lead-in. I hope you enjoyed.**

**(creeps out just as quietly, then flicks off lights)**

**Good night, everyone.**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**

* * *


	26. Chapter 25: The Loft

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M_.

Chapter 25:

"**The Loft"

* * *

**

"You... what?"

Vergil slowly released my hands as he pulled his mind from mine. His eyes were blank again.

"Jira–" He said dispassionately. "–I need to get to the point."

I gulped, his words still ringing in my ears, then nodded. He stood and walked away from me, stopping in front of the sliding door leading to the living room balcony. I could see his reflection clearly in the mirrored surface.

"Jira..." He began. I saw him close his eyes for a long moment, then pinned me with a cobalt stare in window pane's reflection.

"I want to turn you into a demon."

His heart-stopping features were serious, beautiful, and intent. It took me a moment to really process what he had just said, and when it finally struck home I leapt from my seat.

"No!" was my indignant cry.

"Wait, Jira, hear me out–" Vergil began, raising a hand to pacify me, but I was not to be calmed.

"No way in hell!" I snarled, striding over to him as best I could, what with my leg in a cast. I reached out and grabbed one of his broad shoulders and pulled him around to face me. He refused to meet my eyes.

"What in the mother-fucking blazes are you thinking?!" I asked in a low, menacing voice, lips pulled back into an enraged sneer as I released him. I clenched my hands into shaking fists. "You want to turn me into a massive, scythe-wielding_ freak _who–"

"Are you forgetting who you're talking to?" Vergil asked dangerously, voice dropping to a volume barely equal to that of a whisper's. "Do you forget my _heritage_?"

I bit back my words, remembering that Vergil was indeed a half-demon, and I had just (unintentionally) called him a freak.

"Well, I'm sorry." I said gruffly, walking back to my abandoned seat. I threw myself into it and asked: "How the hell would you do that anyway?"

"That's where all this research comes in." Vergil said wearily, running his fingers through his hair. "I believe I've found someone who could work the conversion, who could take away your humanity... but we'd have to go see them soon. The door to their world will soon be closed."

"Riiiight." I said, drawing out the word into a sarcastic sounding syllable. "Door's closing. Great."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd think it over. Think until Friday, then make a decision." Vergil said quietly. "Don't discount it right away."

"It's pretty hard to NOT discount it, Vergil." I snapped. "You want to take away my friggin' _humanity_, for Christ's sake." I ground my teeth together. "What the fuck would happen to me if I _did_ choose to go through with it?" I put my head in my hands, beginning to feel depressed. "Would I be _me_ anymore?"

Vergil remained silent, and I did not look at him.

"Who would I be? _What _would I be?" I suddenly felt desperate, though I knew not why. Suddenly my mood soured. "And I_ hate_ waiting! Maybe we should go see them now, just to get it over with..."

"We could, if you wished it."

I jerked my head up and looked at him. His face was serious, eyes solemn.

"They are very readily available."

"But it's so late– " I began to protest, looking at the clock on the wall. Vergil cut me off.

"Do you want to see them now or not?" He snapped. "I'm just as anxious as you are, and I'd like to get it out of the way as well." He _did_ look anxious, and it grated on my nerves that he was feeling so. I had more of a right to feel that way than he did, in my opinion.

"Fine!" I yelled. "So where the hell are we going? Lead on, Vergil, the suspense is killing me!"

"Follow me." He said curtly, sweeping past me towards the back of the house. "After all... we're only going upstairs."

* * *

Vergil lead me to the loft, and I realized with a start that I had never once been into that room. It was the only second-story room in the house, and yet somehow I had never even _considered_ entering it. 

Vergil remained silent as we climbed the wrought iron spiral staircase leading to the loft, and I was similarly quiet. When he pushed open the door at the far end of the landing, however, I let out a gasp.

It looked like a magicians study.

The room was huge, or at least bigger than what I had expected. It was fifty by fifty feet minimum, and was high ceilinged. There were no windows, but there was a large, hexagonal skylight in the very center of the space.

Book cases and desks were lined up against the walls, and they were filled with neatly organized books, scrolls, jars, and artifacts, all of them arcane and old. A cache of weaponry and armor was meticulously racked in one corner, and the blades gleamed dully in the half-light.

What caught my eye, however, was the symbol set into the middle of the space, just underneath the skylight.

It was a circle within a square within a circle, all three figures encasing a -pointed star. It had been drawn in what looked like shining silver and violet paint. The starlight filtering in from the over-head window caused the pigment to sparkle slightly, but that glimmering spark was somehow foreboding.

"That." Vergil said, pointing at the figure on the floor. "–is the door to the Spectrum."

"Spectrum?" I asked. "What in the world is that?" My voice echoed softly around the room.

"Where we're going." Vergil answered, side-stepping my questions. I growled.

"Could you stop being so damn _vague_!?"

He didn't answer, simply walked up to the edge of the star-lit rune on the ground.

I trailed after him, muttering curses, and then looked at the sign again. On closer inspection, the strange symbol seemed to be laid down with a coarse, lumpy-looking power.

"It's powered demon blood." Vergil said suddenly. "But only from a lower-caste legion. It needs more blood, more powerful blood, to activate it."

He promptly bent down and slipped a finger into the top of one of his tall boots, then pulled a long, thin object from their depths.

It was the knife I had given him.

He stared at the glimmering blade for a moment before wrapping his other hand around it's razor edge. Blood began to well from between his tightly clenched fingers

"Verge?!" I cried, freaked at the sight of blood. "What are you–?" He shushed me, then ripped the blade out of his fist with a wet slishing noise. He opened his fingers and let some of his blood drip onto the course violet sand. The he held out his hand, palm up, to face me.

No trace of the wound remained.

There was still-wet blood, yes, but no cut in sight.

"I told you– I can heal." He said, eyes glittering. "That was a demon's equivalent of a paper-cut."

He did not get a chance to say anymore, for at that moment came a flash of light so bright I actually cried out in pain, tears streaming from my tortured eyes. I pressed the heel of my hands into my eyes sockets, willing the pain –and the light– to go away.

When I opened them again, the light had vanished and the figure on the floor was glowing red.

"I'm sorry." I snapped my gaze, burned retinas and all, away from the sigil to look at Vergil, who was now standing. His body was angled towards me. "I should have warned you about the flash."

"What the hell–?" I began.

"It's a gate, the one we have to take to see the individual I spoke of." He said blandly. "Watch."

I complied, just in time to see the ember-red glow fade to orange.

"It's changing colours." I remarked. "Why?"

"I'm... not too sure. When it gets to violet, or the end of the spectrum, we'll be able to pass through." His face was dispassionate as he rattled off that fact. "It's just what it does."

"How long 'til then?" I asked. The sigil was now yellow.

"Each change takes about one minute or so. There are seven colours in the spectrum. You do the math." He smirked. "When we come back through, it will cycle through the colours in reverse order, then disappear when it reaches red again. You can still go through if it's in the process of dissipating –but has already left violet– only the transition will take longer." He looked back at the sigil. It was now green. "It will be nothing but a ring of useless quartz sand."

"Fascinating, you wind-bag." I said sarcastically. He certainly was talking a lot, for once. "What is this, anyway? Black magic?"

"Close: demon magic." He fished a square of cloth out of his jacket pocket and blotted the blood off of his healed hand. "Demonic sorcery, if you will."

"Oh." I said in a small voice. I shook my head clear, then asked: "So who's this person we're going to go see?"

Vergil hesitated a moment before muttering something in a language I'd never heard. The sound of it was honey-sweet and sultry, but had a dark edge to it that sent a chill down my spine.

"Do they... uh, got a nickname?" I mumbled, shaking my head. Vergil sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"The English translation for her name would be 'Merhusame.'"

"Merhusame..." I said slowly, tasting the word as it rolled off my tongue. "And you said 'her.' So their a chick?"

"Yes."

"Okay then..."

I glanced back at the portal. It had bypassed blue and was wavering on indigo, almost violet. As I watched, it switched completely to the last colour.

A beam of brilliant violet light shot out of the center of the six-pointed star and straight up through the skylight. It was pencil thin at first, then widened to fill the entire outer ring. It shimmered in the air like a violet fog, and I could make out vague shapes of desks and tables on the other side. Glimmers of colour were dancing in the heart of it, and white-gold sparks flitted across its surface.

"Whoa..." My eyes were wide. I jumped as Vergil took my hand in his, then blushed furiously.

"This is it." He murmured, eyes on mine. His fingers tightened reflexively around my own. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be..." I quipped, heart hammering in my throat.

I then grit my teeth, banished the blush, and let Vergil lead me through the portal.

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME **

**AAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!_ (VirM convulses on ground for a long moment, then stands, wiping blood from her heavily bleeding nose)_ THey held hands for a minute there! How... disgustingly cute... urgh... _(convulses again)_**

**Ha! Another chapter! And so soon! Fear me, mortals!**

**I had a half-day at school because of finals, and I spent all that free time writing this chapter for you guys. Nope, no studying for me. I'd much rather write, actually. By the way, this story is almost up to 4000 hits. Not far away at all, in all honesty.**

**So someone took me off their fav list yesterday... which makes me very, very sad. We'll miss you!**

**Two new people added me, though: Aloysius316 (who is actually my boy-friend in the real world... awkward... hi baby!) And JennyLovesPip. Thanks you guys!**

**I got the 5th Anniversary boxed set of the Devil May Cry games!!! SQUEEE!!!!! So what if I already own two copies of #3 and one of #1? These are in a pretty BOX! **

**Another announcement... my darling (twitch) younger sister (TWITCH) is now on this site... so be nice... (cowers from her) She can be really scary some times... but I am eventually gonna base a fan-fic OC on her... weird. Anyway... Her name's CancerStick.**

**So Vergil wants Jira to turn into a demon so she can live forever with him in near-eternal youth... That bastard. So demanding... lucky Jira's so hard-headed she won't go along with it... **

"**Merhusmae" is pronounced _"MAIR" _(rhymes with 'fair')_ "HOO" _(as in: 'Who?' Mike Jones! 'Who?' Mike Jones') _"SAH"_ (think the first syllable of 'soccer') _"MAY"_ (as in 'the merry month of...'). I hope I prevented _that _train-wreck before it happened...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: Who is the person, Merhusame (Remember kids: MAIR-HOO-SAH-MAY), who might be able to demonize Jira? What will she want in return? Will Jira and Vergil have a clash of interests AGAIN? Will all of you hate me for this new chapter and new arc and stuff? Find out next time!**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	27. Chapter 26: Merhusame

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

Chapter 26:

"**Merhusame**"

* * *

The wall of colour washed over me in a cold wave, pressed into my mouth and nose like gaseous glass, then burst into my lungs with terrifying force. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think coherently, couldn't move; but I could feel Vergil's reassuringly warm hand on my own, the only heat in this world of violet ice. 

For a long moment I was falling, then floating, the rushing upwards. Time became distant, sensation lost as the colours one by one cycled through the spectrum: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

_Richard of York gave battle in vain_. I thought, the acronym for rainbow-order flashing into my consciousness as the colours shifted in-sequence before my eyes. _Roy-jee-biv. Richard of York gave battle..._

The metonymy repeated into oblivion, but it wasn't Richard of York who was giving battling in vain.

It was me.

I felt as if my entire being was being flooded with ice; I was helpless to keep the numbing spiritual-cold at bay. Only my hand, clasped tightly within Vergil's, remained warm. I felt I was drowning in space and time and sheer cold–

–and then my feet hit the ground with a solid thud.

I staggered, and was immediately supported by Vergil, who gripped my upper arms tightly in his bare hands. I could feel their heat through my thin green t-shirt.

"Jira, are you alright?" Vergil asked, eyes intent on my face. I glowered at him as feeling rushed back into my body. I noticed absently that the glowing sigil had been transcribed onto the new floor. It was glittering a steady violet.

"A warning, next time..." I was breathing heavily, air feeling deliciously warm in my lungs, shivering violently "... before we do something like that." I pulled my arms from his grasping hands, then caught sight of the place we had been transported. My eyes grew wide.

"Where in the world–?"

We were in a cavern, lit by purple-flamed torches held in sconces shaped like swans, whose high reaches faded into darkness. The door less, windowless walls were worn smooth, and their rosy-orange surface was dappled gold that glittered prettily in the torch light.

Low tables covered in books, scrolls, plants, and apparatus' that looked like they should belong to an apothecary were scattered everywhere, and a fire was blazing merrily in a large fireplace set into the far wall of the oblong chamber. A canopy bed draped in white silk and gauzes, piled high with cushions, was pressed to a far wall, and a cauldron full of a steaming liquid was bubbling a frothy amber over the fore-mentioned fire. A heady perfume of apples and cinnamon wafted from its steam, scenting the chamber. Cushions, large white and cream coloured pillows the size of a large person, were piled in heaps on the clean floor.

But no matter how strange the room, the woman standing in its center was far stranger still.

She was smiling, for one, and I knew that if it had been me I would've been screaming. I mean, two people had just burst from nowhere into a room with no doors. Strange, to say the very least.

Her lovely almond eyes were a deep, liquid violet, and I shuddered at their colour, the gate's onslaught of that particular hue still fresh in my mind. Her hair fell in long, angular raven waves to the floor, where it spilled a good three, maybe four feet behind her. It wasn't tangled in the slightest. A sash of white linen flowed about her waist, billowing out around her feet. When she walked, I caught sight of a gold band dangling loosely around her slender ankle.

She was also naked from the waist up.

Her lily skin was smooth and unblemished, with rosy tinting here and there. Her long hair did well to cover her ample chest, but when she shifted towards us it parted, revealing–

I averted my eyes, embarrassed. Then Vergil spoke:

"We have come to invoke the rite of audience." His voice was deep and clear, and then the woman spoke.

"Oh, come now, Son of Sparda. No need to be so formal. I still hold your father in very high regard."

Her voice was bell-like, of middle pitch; sensual and intoxicating. She laughed, her lush lips parting slightly. Her eyes twinkled above her high-boned cheeks. She was beautiful, more-so than any woman I had ever seen.

"And _you_ are Jira, the ironically-named mortal I've come to find so funny. I am Merhusame. At last we meet!"

"Funny?" I asked, eyebrow raised. I had not yet stopped shivering despite the chambers relative warmth. "And how'd you know my name, ma'am?"

"Has Vergil told you nothing?" She asked, confusion clouding her features. "Even if he hadn't willingly, you must have known; the blood tie–"

"Is one way, at the moment." I snapped, still shivering. "Vergil here is the only one with the benefits."

"Ah, yes, you have not come of age yet." She giggled. I blushed.

I stood there awkwardly, shuddering from the residual cold of the gate, once again at a loss after the whole 'coming of age' topic. Then Vergil spoke.

"We have come to discuss–" Vergil began. Merhusame interrupted him.

"Tsk, tsk, Vergil, you know I know why you have come." She laughed again. "But before we discuss it, I must have my payment." His face clouded.

"What do you demand?" He asked. He did not look happy.

"A bit of the Son of Sparda's blood will do." She said after a moment's pause. "Very handy in the far-reach sight spells–"

"Far-reach what?" I piped, curiosity getting the better of me.

"She is a seer, Jira." Vergil said quietly to me, rummaging in his jacket pocket. "An oracle who can see into the future, as well as one of the few demi-gods left in existence."

I 'oh'-ed. That explained how she knew my name, and Vergil's. It also explained why she was not surprised at our arrival.

"Will this do?" Vergil asked. He was holding up his blood-stained handkerchief he had used to clean his hand with earlier. Merhusame frowned and pouted.

"No. It is not fresh. It lost its potency after being gated here." She held out a hand, and suddenly a gauzy square of white fabric was dangling from her fingertips. "That method of collecting blood is clever, though. Use this, this time."

Vergil strode forward, took the cloth, bent and freed his dagger, then cut open his palm once again. He clenched the gauze in his fist, then opened it. The wound had disappeared. He began to blot off the excess blood. When he finished, he handed it over to Merhusame, who tucked it into a fold of her half-robe.

"Now that that little pleasantry is out of the way... let's have a seat, shall we?"

She swept away from us, silken hair and robe swinging over the smooth ground behind her, then settled herself into one of the large pile of cushions set around the fire place.

"Come and join me." She called, gesturing at the cushions lazily.

Vergil and I looked at each other for a moment and then complied. I sank about two feet, knowing how clumsy I looked in my bulky cast and athletic shorts. Vergil somehow remained upright despite the awkward feather cushions, exuding regal grace.

With a lazy flick of a finger, Merhusame summoned three silver, swan-shaped goblets from thin air. I jumped, never having witnessed magic before, as she waved a hand at the bubbling pot over the fire. A ladle surfaced, dipped up a portion of the hot liquid, then floated over to fill a glass. It repeated until all three were filled. Then a glass drifted towards me. Another flew to Vergil.

"Drink." She said happily, sipping from her own cup. "It's very good."

I eyed my drink dubiously as I gently pulled it from the air. It sure did _smell _nice, but if this lady_ was _a demon, I wasn't sure if...

"Don't drink it, Jira." Vergil commanded.

"Why in the world not?" Merhusame asked, hurt spreading across her features. "It's apple cider, straight from the human plane! It will warm her up! She's shivering!"

Indeed I was; the cold from the gate had not yet dissipated.

Vergil studied Merhusame for a long moment, looked at me for even longer, then snatched his cup from its position in the air and drained it in several long gulps. He sat for a moment, eyes closed, then looked at me.

"It is safe."

I promptly downed about half of it, feeling blessed warmth tingle in my extremities and limbs. I snuggled deeper into my cushiony nest and sighed, warm at last.

"Back to business then." Merhusame chirped cheerfully. "What do you wish to discuss with me?" Vergil glowered.

"You know very well what we want." He said blandly. Merhusame giggled.

"I do, but I'd rather hear it from you." Her violet eyes grew solemn. "I'd also like to hear you reasons for wanting this change."

Vergil turned from her to look at me. His stare was piercing.

"She is fragile."

I blinked, thinking: _Fragile?_

"She is not safe as a human, she is too vulnerable." He took a deep breath, turned to Merhusame, and finally said it:

"So I want to turn her into a demon."

Merhusame regarded him for a long moment, eyes sad.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, my dear."

"Why not?!" Vergil demanded, sitting up straighter.

"Because what you are _really _asking me to give her is immortality." Merhusame was not fazed by Vergil's flashing eyes, nor by his rising anger. "It is against the will of the gods for a mortal to have such."

"Then we came here for nothing." He growled, rising fully to his feet.

"No, not nothing." Merhusame replied, miffed. "Why don't you sit back down and listen to me? You're nearly as stubborn as your father..." She trailed off, shaking her head as Vergil slowly lowered himself to the cushions again. I sipped my cider, rather amused at their antics.

"I could give her extended life by tying her life to yours.You are already tied by the soul; this will be a tie of flesh." Merhusame said slowly once Vergil was seated. "And I can give her youth, by awakening her latent magic."

"Latent magic?" I asked. "What in the world is that?"

"All humans have magic dwelling within them." She said with a smile. "Most just cannot use it. That's why humans age so quickly. Magic preserves youth."

"What's the catch?" Vergil interjected. "Nothing is free, especially in bargains with demi-gods."

Her eyes glittered darkly. "You are correct... it will indeed come at a cost."

"What cost?" Vergil asked guardedly. I sat up, intrigued.

"It will take..." She smiled, pausing for effect, then continued.

"...her virtue."

Vergil was quiet for a long moment, eyes wide.

Then he bolted to his feet.

"No!" He snarled. I glared at him.

"Sit, boy!" I barked. He glared back at me.

"You can't give that up!" He snapped, eyes flicking back to Merhusame. "You can't!"

"What's virtue?" I asked Merhusame, seeing I'd get no answers from the raging half-demon.

"Goodness." She answered. Vergil glared at her. "Positive energy and feelings you have acquired." She smiled. "I don't see why he is so worried though; with the extended life I'd give you in return, you would have more than enough time to gain all of it back. Plus some, most likely."

"You're leaving out the most important part, actually." Vergil snarled, teeth grit visibly.

"Without virtue, she won't be able to get into heaven."

"I _what_?!" I yelped, struggling to sit up.

"Like I said, she can earn it back." Merhusame spoke sourly. She sniffed. "Since you'll live for such a long time, and she'll be tied to you, she'll have plenty of time to–"

"I don't care." Vergil snapped. "She can't give that up. No matter what happens."

"Why not?" I asked, peeved. "Isn't it my choice?"

"Not in this situation." He glared. "It doesn't matter if you live for a hundred years if you have to rot in hell when they are over. I won't have that, even if it means living without you."

He promptly wheeled around and walked back to the portal. I rose and followed, not knowing what else to do.

Merhusame caught my arm as I tried to hobble off.

"You are a welcome guest, Miss Jira." She said quietly. I stole a glance at Vergil, who was in the process of cutting his palm to get blood for the portal. I nodded at her.

"Okay." I said. I tried to free myself, but she caught me again.

"He obviously cares for you; he only wants what is best." She gave me a smile.

"Just be sure you know what is best for _him,_ as well."

* * *

"Vergil?" 

He made no move. We were back on the human plane once more, standing just outside the gate's glowing remains. They were already turning blue, slowly making their way back to red... and then oblivion.

I spoke slowly, buying time. What I was about to do was foolhardy, I knew, but Merhusame's last words were still ringing in my ears.

They had clarified my path at last.

"This... means a lot to you, doesn't it?" I asked. Vergil did not answer me for a long moment, then:

"We'll find another way."

Though his back was to me, I could tell from the curve of his dejected shoulders just how badly he had wanted me to convert, and what it now meant to have his one hope at happiness stripped away.

I glanced at the sigil: it was green.

"Vergil..." I began again, slowly approaching him. He waved me off.

"Leave me." His voice was emotionless, tired.

"Vergil–" I tried again, but to no avail.

"Leave me!" He snarled, suddenly vicious.

I looked at the portal: yellow.

I did not comply to his imperative. I did not go. Instead, I stepped forward cautiously, then grasped his hand. His head jerked around, eyes wide, fingers tightening reflexively around my own.

"I'm sorry, Vergil." I said softly. "You're hurt, I know."

He made no move to draw away, so I continued, glancing at the portal: it was orange. When I looked back at him, his cobalt eyes were torn.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you like this."

I let that sink in, again trying to buy time. When he again made no move, I looked at the portal:

It had turned red, and would soon be gone. I had to hurry.

I looked at his face one last time. He was so depressed looking, so_ lost,_ I couldn't help myself: I stood on tiptoe--

--and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

When I pulled away, his face was stunned.

"I'm sorry Vergil– " I said slowly, releasing his hand.

"But you can't make decisions for me anymore."

With that, I wheeled around and ran into the scarlet depths of the portal, triumph rushing through my veins as the gate shut behind me, effectively sealing my fate just as they sealed one world from another.

* * *

**AUTHOR TIME**

**I think this might just be the biggest cliff-hanger yet.**

**Don't hate me TOO badly. Just enjoy. **

**ROY JEE BIV----- R. O. Y. G. B. I. V. ----- Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain.--- Rainbow order. Woot!**

**Merhusame reminds me of Nevan, what with the toplessness and stuff... maybe they're related? And Merhusame is actually a demi-god, not a demon. Not too much difference, but only demi's can see the future. Oh well.**

**DEVIL MAY CRY belongs to CAPCOM**

**JIRA, BY BLOOD CONNECTED, AND MERHUSAME belong to VIRM.**


	28. Chapter 27: By Blood Reborn

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

Chapter 27:

"**By Blood Reborn**"

* * *

"Merhusame!" I screamed as my feet made contact with the ground. The mind-numbing cold of the violet gate had been replaced with soul searing heat of the fading red, and I felt faint. I stumbled forward and fell to my hands and knees, ankle twinging in its plaster cocoon. I looked up from my position, panting in the deliciously cool air, and saw her standing not ten feet from me.

Her large purple eyes were wide as saucers, shocked. She was holding the gauzy cloth with the bloom of Vergil's blood on it between her fore-fingers and thumbs, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

"Don't look so surprised!" I snapped, head reeling from the gate's heat. It seemed violet had been cold, and red hot. Green probably would be of middle temperature. The transition had been even harder than the first time since Vergil had not been there to hold onto, but what with the adrenaline flooding my system I could care less. "You knew I'd come; you're an oracle!"

"I didn't know for sure you would, actually." Merhusame replied, miffed, all traces of shock replaced by the vapid look of serenity she had worn during our last encounter. She strode over and helped me to my feet with one of her long-nailed, violet lacquered hands. A cup was summoned out of thin air, and the swan shaped goblet held an icy, mint flavoured liquid that I gulped down in haste. It effectively cooled me off, and I was able to stand on my own.

"I thought you knew everything..." I asked suspiciously, voice raspy. She sighed prettily, smiling.

"Almost. What I can see are paths."

"Paths?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "Wuzzat?"

Her reply was: "When someone makes a decision, a path is opened. Every thought, gesture, and action can open a new field of them, as well as destroy tens of thousands of paths." She giggled, and then her face darkened. "I saw this possibility, yes, but I didn't think you'd pick this way. You strike me as a selfish person."

"Yeah, well, your little parting phrase helped me see what I had to do." I said gruffly. Her smile returned in full force.

"I see all the paths possible, my dear... _at once_. It is most confusing. The paths disappear as some decisions are made, and new ones are forged as some are taken or abandoned. I knew that you might have come, but any of the other choices were just as likely possible." Her smile turned sad. "I'm not omniscient, you know... I'm just more informed than most."

I nodded, absorbing the information, then shook my head, jolting myself back to the here-and-now.

"We're wasting time!" I said quickly, pleadingly. "I just _barely_ gave Vergil the slip; he'll be here any minute!"

"You have no need to worry." She smiled. "This realm is mine; I control the flow of time here..." I sighed in relief at her words. I did not have to worry.

"So you wish for me to make the change now?" Merhusame asked with a grin. I nodded vehemently.

"Yes. Now. Before he can come charging through the portal with murder on his mind." Though I did not doubt her assurance that she controlled the time flow, I also did not doubt that Vergil would somehow find a way around it. God knew he was probably mad enough –not to mention clever enough– to find away.

Merhusame looked me over with a shrewd eye.

"I'll need an object of yours to work with." She said, eyeing the collar of my dark green t-shirt. "I believe you are wearing the pendant Vergil gave you, correct?"

"Yeah." I muttered, fishing the bauble out of my top. I didn't think anything of her knowledge of the necklace, her being an oracle and all. Besides, I rarely took the thing off. There was no way she couldn't have known about it.

"Ah, yes." She murmured, leaning in close to eye the pearl and flower seedlings caught in the smooth crystal. "But I will need to check it first..." She held a lovely, white-skinned hand over the necklace, the tips of her fingers and the heel of her hand resting lightly on my chest.

"Check for what, now?" I asked, the sudden contact making me feel rather awkward.

"The object in question needs to be infused with your aura." She said, eyes closed in concentration. "Jewelry, crystal pieces in particular, are excellent receptors of human and demonic aura." She drew in a breath, then opened her violet eyes with a smile. "This will do quite nicely."

She drew her hand away from me, and I looked down at the pendant lying on my breast. I let out a gasp.

It was glowing with a white-gold light, infused in the heart with equal parts platinum and blue, the two colours balanced like a yin-yang. Bright blue surrounded the edges, containing the inner core like a shield.

"You see the blue in the heart?" Merhusame asked as the light began to fade. "And the blue around the edges? You have been infuse with trace amounts of Vergil's aura." She smiled. "Evidence of the blood tie."

"You don't say.." I said quietly, reaching up to touch the pendent hesitantly with a fore-finger. I jerked myself back to Merhusame. "What are you waiting for?" She laughed, bell-like.

"I was just observing you." She giggled again, then her face turned serious. "But there is something you should know before you make this irreversible decision."

I remained silent, waiting for her to continue. I did not like the sound of this.

"There will be pain involved, doubtless." She said evenly. "Both in your body and your mind. After all, this is warping both your flesh _and _your soul. It is quite possible that your body will shut itself down and force you into a healing coma –a state of remission, if you will– in order to repair the damage done to your human shell."

She stopped, violet eyes lovely and intense on my face. I gulped, then spoke, voice thick with dread and apprehension:

"What else?"

"It is quite possible you will be marked." Merhusame said in a rush. "A mark showing that you are indeed converted in some way, possibly even showing you re tied to Vergil in particular."

"What kind of mark?" I asked suspiciously. "A third eye? A tail? No grotesque deformities, I should hope..." Merhusame smiled sadly at me, though the expression did nothing to lighten the look in her eyes.

"For all I know... it might be." She admitted. "I am unable to see what your future holds, in all honesty." All at once, her look turned mischievous.

"But enough of that dismal detail." She placed her hands on my shoulders, eyes agleam. "Let's have that virtue!"

I stood waiting for something to happen, but she said no words, uttered no spells. She simply lowered her face to my level, and then–

"Whoa there!" I yelped, yanking myself out of her grip. She looked peeved.

"Were you about to fuckin' _kiss _me?!" I accused loudly, voice echoing throughout the cavern. I pointed a finger at her. "Cuz is _sure looked_ like you were, and I am sorry to burst your bubble but I am as _straight_ as a fuckin'_ arrow_!"

She curled a strand of crinkly hair behind a delicate shell of an ear. Her eyes glimmered as she pouted playfully at me.

"But Jira, what better way to steal a girl's virtue... than with a kiss between two women?" She laughed, eyes dancing.

"Well can't you take the virtue some other way?! I mean, _dude_!" I blushed furiously, lost for words.

"I'm afraid I can't." Merhusame said cheerfully. "And besides–" Her look turned sultry. "–the kissing is my favourite part."

I thought on that a moment.

"Well, okay." I snapped, banishing my revulsion. "But you'd better keep that tongue to yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, yes, of course." She said, businesslike as she leaned in a second time. "Vergil would have my head on a pike if I even tried to... oh!"

She went rigid.

Her eyes suddenly snapped wide, rolling back into her skull to reveal their whites. Her supple fingers arched into claws, her jaw slackened, and her back became as stiff and as straight as a board. A low moaned issued from her pale throat as her head twitched from side to side, forward and back.

"Merhusame!" I cried, alarmed at her sudden change in demeanor. I stretched out my hands, needing to help or _something_. "What's going on?!"

"_The sword's soul is upon preyed!"_

I jerked away from her. Her blank white eyes shifted in my direction, and though I knew she could not see it felt like for all the world she was looking straight through me.

"W... what?" I whispered. I strengthened my voice slightly. "What did you say?"

"_The blood and the blue will band as one!"_

Her voice was a guttural snarl, a feral hiss of sound. Her sightless eyes seemed to blaze with white fire, and she continued to speak:

"_Serpent!"_ She hissed, hands writhing at her sides. _"Hell-cat! Dragon! Spade!"_

"Merhusame–" I began. She kept right on speaking.

"_Shall seek out the hunter, the two-in-one!"_

"What are you–" I gasped, grabbing her arm. She brushed me off with surprising force, sending me careening to the floor.

"_But one shall be lost to the collector of pawns!"_

She shuddered visibly, shoulders rippling. Tears began to pour down her face and her breath came in short, harsh gasps.

"– _lost to eternity!"_

She screamed, back arching painfully.

"– _to time!"_

She crumpled to the ground as I picked myself up and ran to her. She was obviously in pain; I could tell from her twisting limbs and agonized expression. She kept right on talking.

"–_to all– "_

I cradled her limp form in my arms awkwardly, lightly slapping her face, trying to bring her around. I all but yelled her name into her ear.

Suddenly, without warning, her hand shot out and grabbed my slapping wrist, just as her violet eyes rolled forward in their sockets again.

"– _save the rising dawn!"_

She collapsed to the stone floor as she breathed out that last word, then abruptly sat up. I hovered around her, anxious. She was the one to speak first:

"Oh dear, I am afraid I have gone and made another prophecy."

"A _what_?" I snapped, rolling to my feet. She followed suit, graceful despite the episode.

"I do that from time to time." She said amiably. "Make a prediction. They are annoyingly cryptic at times, I am afraid." She giggled again, and I grit my teeth. "Remember my words. They may aid you someday, and I do not make prophecy lightly."

"Aren't we forgetting something here!" I snarled, hands on hips. "Who gives a shit about some dumb prediction! We have more important matters on our hands– take the goddamn virtue NOW!"

"Fine!" Merhusame snapped. "If you do not wish to listen to an oracle it cannot be helped! I'll take that virtue now!"

"I'm afraid that won't be necessary."

I froze where I stood, as did Merhusame as a third party member spoke. A chill ran down my spine. Our heads turned in unison towards the possessor of that cold voice.

Vergil was standing in a ring of violet sand, looking pissed.

"Come back, Jira." He said slowly, obviously angry. He took a threatening step towards me, eyes blazing. "This is foolishness."

"Oh dear!" Merhusmae sighed. "It seems I released my grip on the time-space spell when I had that fit of–" I cut her off half-way through.

"Do it!" I whispered, turning back to Merhusame, ignoring Vergil. "Do it now!" She smiled kindly down at me, then whispered:

"Of course, dear."

Her next move was almost too fast to follow. She reached up and caught hold of my pendent with the hand holding the cloth stained in Vergil's blood, effectively covering the bauble with the crimson and satin. Using her grip on the necklace, she pulled me to her.

And she kissed me.

I barely felt her lips brush my own because I was too preoccupied by the strange sensation flooding my chest. It felt as if something had been ripped from me, like I had been hollowed out from the inside.

Still reeling from that, Merhusame caught me by the chin and forced me to look at her.

"Brace yourself." She murmured.

Then, using the palm of her hand, she shoved both the blood-cloth and the pendent deep into my chest–

–just above my heart.

I stood for a long moment after Merhusame pulled away, looking down at the gold chain protruding from my chest. A rose of blood bloomed on my dark green t-shirt, staining it a deep brown. Small scraps of white fluttered around the edges of the wound, and I could just make out the shining bauble lodged in my breast-bone

Then the cloth, the chain, and the blood disappeared.

The lot of it simply shimmered a vaguely green-blue colour and vanished. My skin was smooth and unblemished, though the t-shirt remained torn.

I waited a beat.

Looked at Merhusame.

Looked at Vergil.

Smiled hesitantly.

And then the grin faded as I felt a pulse from deep within my body.

With that pulse came untold agony.

I fell to my knees, blinded by the onslaught of pain. If I had thought the slash I procured from that demon was painful, then this was the stuff of legend.

Pain can be romanticized. Pain can be described in poetic beauty that detracts from the reality of it. It can be made to seem noble –even beautiful– if described properly.

This pain, however, cannot be degraded so.

It is nothing any mortal should experience.

In those moments, I wished for death.

I writhed on the stone floor, unable to scream, unable to breathe. I was unaware of the world around me, unaware of Vergil's arms cradling my spent form, unable to feel the cold stone beneath my thighs. All I could see were his eyes, so blue, so intense, so frightened–

–_it's not like Vergil to be frightened._ I thought through the haze of white-hot-agony. _It's not like Vergil at all. He's so stoic and–_

Pain flashed across my senses again.

Coherent thought was impossible amidst the pain, so rather than think I focused on the sight of Vergil's eyes.

Or, rather, the dragon within them.

What I saw in that cavern was a thing of terrible, terrifying beauty. It roared up and out of Vergil's eyes: a raging silver dragon with scales edged in gold, with blue eyes the colour of the sea, feathered wings of clearest crystal and darkest ebony.

Was the dragon a hallucination?

A delusion induced by pain?

I have no idea.

All I know is that even if it _was_ only the ravings of a creature maddened by pain, it brought me immeasurable comfort.

It spoke to me, though I do not remember the words.

Words meant nothing. All I could do was feel.

As if in response, I felt the dragon wrap itself around me, slip its tail lovingly around my hips, cradle my torso in its feathered wings, lay its head over my heart. It's glass claws gripped my shoulders in a tender embrace, and for a moment I was sheltered from the pain.

But the places where the dragon touched me seemed to only burn more intensely after a moment, and I shoved the dragon off, beat it off with my astral fists, even though it only hurt more to move.

I couldn't stand it.

I couldn't take this pain–

–this agony–

–this torture!

They say that when one experiences untold amounts of pain, they stop feeling it.

And, as if in a testament to the saying, my body went into remission, just as Merhusame had predicted–

–And I learned the saying to be true.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**Oh boy... another evil cliffy... I wrote this in what–? 45 minutes? Forgive its unedited state; my sister and I just got back from NYC an hour ago and I need sleep badly. I'm not up to my best at this point in time, but I love you guys and felt you deserved relief from that last evil cliffy. Damn. I hope you enjoyed. I'll edit this as soon as I can and fix it to make it BETTERRRRRR. I ain't satisfied with it at all. I am ashamed of myself.**

**What did you think of that turning method? Invasive, much? Not very sterile, though...**

**And as for that dragon... you'll see.**

**As for the prophecy... it's connected to my other fic, The Influx. Go read it. It's in this thing's sequel.**

**Again: SORRY FOR THE CRAPPINESS. **

**That is all.**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	29. Chapter 28: Waking Up

By Blood Connected

A Fan fiction by VirM.

Chapter 28:

"Waking Up"

When I awoke, I was alone.

I was in a bed, comforter pulled up over my shoulders, head cushioned by a feather pillow. Pale gold light filtered in through the high bay window, creating whorls of dust motes in the still air. The black slate of the floor was made lighter due to the illuminating quality of the brightness, staining the dark tile a shade of dull gray, darkened silver on par with the likes of storm clouds.

I moaned as the light stung my eyes, then pulled the pillow out from under my head and smashed it against my face. Sighing in my self-created darkness, I rolled over to my side, then yelped as the muscles in my arms, legs, and back all twinged in unison.

"Shit!" I shot upright at the sensation skating across my nerves. When I recovered from the sudden pain, I gently swung my legs over the side of the bed. The slate was cool against the bare soles of my feet—

Wait.

Feet.

Plural?

My cast, my plaster companion of the last two months, had vanished.

I shivered, dumbstruck. That shiver caused a new wave of aches and pains to cascade over my muscles, and I cursed again. I grimaced and gingerly ran a hand through my unbound hair—

My eyes widened.

My hair was longer than I remembered. Much longer. After Vergil had forced me into that long ago haircut, it had barely been able to brush my collar, but now—

It was four inches past my shoulders, at least.

I sat in shock for several seconds, head reeling.

What in the hell was going on?

I bolted to my feet, only to have my legs buckle beneath me. My arms screamed in protest as I grabbed a hold of the wrought iron bed frame and levered myself back up to the top of the mattress. Panting from the exertion, I began to think:

Why was I so weak?

Why was my hair so long?

Where had my cast gone?

Where was I, in the first place?

The last question I was able to answer, seeing as how I recognized the room. It was one of Vergil's unused bedrooms, bare save for a writing desk, matching chair, seemingly empty chest of drawers, and the bed I was currently sprawled across. However, the 'unused' room looked more lived in than it should have. While the half of the bed I had woken up in was pristine—sheets barely rumpled, pillow hardly creased (or at least it had been until I had buried my face in it)—the other half of the bed looked as if it had been slept in by an individual with chronic nightmares and the tendency to thrash violently in their sleep. The pillow was flung to the foot of the bed, the sheets were tangled, and the comforter was askew.

The desk was covered in books, books I recognized as tomes from my own private selection, and they consisted namely of my favourites.

How had they gotten to here from my room?

I got up from the bed again, this time making sure my cast-free legs could support my weight without spilling me to the floor, and made my way to the bathroom off the far wall, wobbling all the way.

Given the way I felt, I fully expected myself to look very much like hell when I caught sight of myself in the mirror mounted above the sink.

I was wrong.

My skin was pale, like always, but not unhealthily so, and my eyes were the same old amber green-- just as not-quite-gold as usual. My stubborn jaw line and nose were as defiant as I remembered; it was just my hair that had changed. My layers had disappeared and my bangs were over-grown, falling down to my jaw line rather than to my eyebrows. Their length enabled me to sweep them to one side, and I did so impatiently.

I was about to leave the bathroom when another difference caught my eye

"Wasn't I wearing a green shirt last night…?" I wondered aloud.

I could have sworn I was. I remembered my outfit perfectly: a dark green t-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts with a white stripe down the side of the left leg.

Now, however, I was clad in a royal blue football jersey and plain black shorts, shorts that lacked the stripe.

My fingers scrabbled reflexively for my crystal pendent, seeking solace in its cool exterior, but were met with nothing but my heated flesh and the smooth material of my jersey.

I plucked at my collar absently, peering into my top as if the bauble had simply fallen and was easily recoverable, and caught sight of something out of the corner of my left eye.

I froze.

It couldn't be.

I jerked myself out of my reverie and hurriedly yanked off my shirt, then hesitantly raised my eyes to the mirror.

At the sight of it, I remembered everything: Merhusame. The kiss that stole my virtue. Vergil's eyes. The dragon within them.

The dragon now emblazoned across my back.

I crumpled to the floor, gripping my shoulders tightly in my numb fingers as the image in the mirror burned itself into my brain. My heart pounded in my chest as my breath came in short, harsh gasps as the memory of the pain washed over me, and the sight of the dragon wrapped around my back pervaded all.

I don't know how long I sat there, mind mingling in equal parts horror and shock, but I eventually recovered enough to face my reflection once again. I reached with a shaking hand to unsnap my simple white bra, then turned so my back was reflected in the mirror.

The dragon I had 'hallucinated' was tattooed onto the surface of my ghostly skin, flowing around me just as it had in Merhusame's cavern.

It had a long, scaly body of pearlescent silver scales, each edged in the palest gold. Its wings were feathered rather than bat-like, translucent as glass that faded to darkest ebony at the tips. A crest of hematite crystal ran down its curved spine, and its tail was tapered to a wicked point. It had only one set of claws, dark glass claws that gripped my shoulders as a lover would. Its tail flowed down to the follow the curve of small of my back, where it then curled sinuously over my right hip, almost in an embrace. Lovely, large wings branched off of my shoulder blades and circled around my torso to gently cup the sides of my breasts. Its head, a triangular skull with a tall dark silver crest at its zenith, curved over my shoulder where it lay gently over my heart. A single eye was visible to the world. The streamlined eye had a gorgeous dark pearl for a pupil, and an iris that started out cobalt at the center and faded to bright amber green at the edge—

It hit me like a blow: it was a fusion of Vergil's eye--and mine.

"A tattoo," I said blandly as I readjusted my clothes, attempting to overshadow my disquiet with sarcasm. "The mark is a tattoo. Great. There goes my dignity." I limped out of the bathroom, still sore (and now, to top it off, freaked) then made my way slowly to the bedroom door.

I poked my head out into the hall: it was empty. Laying a hand against the wall, I slowly made my way into the living room.

"Vergil?" I called out. I was met with silence. I had taken about two steps into the room when I finally got an answer.

"Welcome back, Jira."

I turned: Vergil was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pair of slacks. His eyes were solemn, beautiful, peaceful, but there was a brewing storm behind their appeal that in all actuality should have frightened me, but only seemed to draw me closer.

"Verge, what—?" I began, but was cut off as he strode forward and pulled me into his arms.

He didn't say anything, and neither did I. There was something sacred about this moment, and words would only taint the sanctity of it.

So I pressed my face into his chest and wound my arms around his waist as he embraced my shoulders. I breathed deeply, inhaling his scent: books, cologne, and a musky smell I couldn't identify. It was singularly unique, utterly masculine, completely Vergil, and I couldn't get enough of it. When he pulled away from me it felt as if I had had my virtue ripped from me a second time; I felt empty.

"Jira…" he murmured, lightly brushing the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. "It has been too long."

A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, but as I watched it was replaced with a look of forced sternness.

"What?" I asked with mock crossness as I stepped out of his reach.

"What were you thinking, Jira?" he asked, voice devoid of emotion yet somehow conveying sadness all the same.

I opened my mouth to answer, realized that I didn't really know the answer, and shut my mouth again. Vergil took advantage of my silence to speak.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, turning away from me. I was about to say no when I realized that I was indeed famished. I nodded at him, and he led me to the kitchen.

The clock in the kitchen read nine-fifteen, still an opportune time to partake in breakfast. Vergil cooked for me, which was a strange sight to see, and seemed to take great pleasure in watching me consume the meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cereal he prepared.

I wolfed it down like a dying man: I don't think I've ever been that hungry before in my life. When I had finished and pushed my plate away, I lay my head on the tabletop.

I was sitting at the bar in the kitchen on a high wooden stool. The counter top was cool against my forehead, and I was about to close my eyes when I finally thought to ask:

"What's today?" I looked up at Vergil, but kept my cheek pressed against counter.

"The twenty-third." His voice was even, and my eyes went wide.

"I've been asleep for ten days!" I gasped, shooting upright. We had left for Merhusame's on the thirteenth of April.

Vergil's stare was intense, but he did not say anything, and I felt I was missing something.

"Vergil…" I said slowly. "You do mean the twenty third of April, right?"

He still refrained from speaking. I slowly rose to my feet.

"Vergil?" I asked again. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Not April, Jira, no," he said slowly. His eyes closed as he ran his fingers through his already pushed-back hair. It caught the fluorescent light glaring overhead and shone bright sliver. When his eyes opened again, they were regretful. "Today is the twenty-third of August."

I stared at him a moment before fainting dead away.


	30. Chapter 29: Deliberation

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by VirM._

Chapter 29:

"**Deliberation"

* * *

**

When I woke up, I was lying on the black tile of the kitchen floor, head supported by one of bar-stool cushions. Vergil was clasping my hands in his own, face both concerned and amused at once.

"Er… hi." I mumbled, sitting up. My head reeled, but I was able to stay upright. By glancing at the clock on the wall, I was able to discern that about four minutes had elapsed since my break from coherent thought pattern.

Vergil stood, then offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet. He then maneuvered me back onto my stool without saying a word. When I was settled, he faced me across the counter top, once again assuming his classic 'Let's regard Jira over the tops of our entwined hands and look all intimidating' posture.

I fidgeted under his intense cobalt gaze. Eager to break the heavy silence, I spoke first.

"So… five?" I asked. Vergil remained silent for a long moment.

"Yes." Was his curt—though not unkind— reply.

"I've been… dead?" I said apprehensively.

"No. Just sleeping." Vergil remained still and unmoving as he spoke. "You neither ate nor drank nor spoke nor dreamt. You were like a doll." His handsome eyes were troubled.

"So you've been… caring for me?" I blurted. He nodded.

"There was not much to do, beyond keeping you comfortable." He explained. His demeanor sobered noticeably.

"What?" I asked dubiously. "What's wrong?"

"Jira—" He began, rising up out of his seat and bracing his arms against the cool marble counter top. "—when is your birthday?" His eyes were all at once fierce, intense, regretful, maddening, and I couldn't look away.

"I don't know." I said automatically. His features darkened at that, and I continued. "I was born in that little African village where there were no calendars. My parents didn't know the exact day."

Vergil slowly sat back down.

"I always write it as September thirteenth." I desperately tried to amend. "The range is from September eighth to the eighteenth; thirteen is in the middle of it."

He gave me a tight lipped smile, then waved my excuses off.

"It was a rhetorical question, anyway. I know the answer."

"You do?" I asked. Once again, he nodded before speaking.

"I felt your existence come into being." He pinned me with his stare. "The blood tie—"

"Okay, okay, I get it, the blood tie knows all." I snapped. "So when's my birthday?"

"The ninth." He said quietly. "At twelve-thirty-six P.M." His eyes were sad, though I knew not why, and I had the urge to reach out and caress his face.

"Wow." I said slowly, quashing the urge. I let out a long, low whistle. "Down to the minute, there."

Vergil didn't answer.

"Why do you ask?" I inquired. "About my birthday?"

I suddenly realized I had said something wrong, and it wasn't just the look on his face that had tipped me off.

"Was that supposed to be a joke? Because it was far from comical." His face had shifted into a mask of leering, glaring disbelief and—dare I say it—hurt. "My impression of you was one of intelligence, Jira, don't go proving me wrong_ now_."

I bristled at that.

"What's wrong with my question?" I snapped back. "I was just wondering what—oh!"

My eyes grew wide.

"Do you see?" Vergil asked. He ran a hand through his silvery-white hair.

"Soon you'll be of age."

I was still in shock, and it took more than a moment for it all to compute.

"This is… too much for one day." I moaned, cradling my suddenly pounding head in my hands, as much to hide my blushing face from him as to nurse my aching cranium. "How is this going to work, Verge?"

"We'll manage." He said simply. I looked at him, face incredulous.

"Need I reiterate-- How?" I snapped.

"Jira…" He murmured.

His gaze caught mine and held it captive; I felt I was drowning in his eyes.

Not that I cared. Drowning in that cobalt sea seemed a happy option.

"This… isn't an obligation for us." He said slowly. "We need not rush. A day at a time is all we need worry over."

"Give it time." He murmured softly. "Let me woo you, gently." He lifted one of his large, square palmed hands over the counter and took my own in his. His hand caged mine like a velvet manacle, holding both my hand and my mind hostage. I would not have resisted him even if I wanted to. I was a willing captive in a snare of gold.

I was enjoying the contact, whether or not I'd ever admit it to myself. I craved his touch, his voice, his face—I needed it like I needed air, though I'd never tell him.

And, whether he knew it or not, I was deep in the clutches of seduction.

I shook myself back to reality.

"Woo me, yes." I said, utilizing sarcasm to hide my true reaction. I let my hand fall limp in his. "But no seduction, Vergil. You'd be too good at that. I'd be toast."

He laughed at that, giving my hand a little squeeze before releasing it. A shiver ran down my spine. I had the urge to touch him again, to take back his hand and clutch it greedily within my own.

But my stubborn side would not let me, and I remained without his touch.

"I cannot make any promises." He said honestly. His eyes glittered darkly, and I shivered again, though not in disquiet or even apprehension. "But I shall try for you, if you wish."

Unbeknownst to him, it was too late for promises. My words were all spoken in denial.

I was already far, far gone.

His eyes, his voice, his touch, his laugh—

They had already seen to that.

* * *

I excused myself soon after on the grounds of desiring a bath, which was not a lie, but not the whole truth either. 

Once in my room, I began my search.

I pawed open my desk drawers and cabinets until I eventually found what I was looking for: one of those useless wall calendars I never seemed to use. This one depicted German Shepherds in various states of cuddly-cuteness.

I rummaged around in my desk until I found a fat red sharpie. Sitting down on my bed, I flipped to the September page –the German shepherd for this month was of a handsome dog lying on a sumptuous red-sheeted silk bed complete with a sprinkling of rose petals-- and drew a large birthday cake on the square designated for the ninth. I noticed the day fell on a Friday, and that the picture was singularly ironic due to the fact that—

I gave myself a good hard mental shake.

"Don't go there, Jira." I whispered to myself. "That's dangerous territory."

I then flipped back to the August page, a safe page featuring a German Shepherd wearing a green bandana and chasing a Porsche. I marked off the twenty-third with a large crimson 'X.'

Satisfied, I tacked the calendar—opened to August—onto a corkboard festooning one of the walls.

The countdown had begun.

* * *

I drew myself a hot bath, complete with bubbles and bath oil. As I let the tub fill up, I laid out a pair of jeans and a tank top for myself. 

I undressed as the water reached the bubbled threatened to spill out over the sides of the bathtub, and then eased myself into the hot liquid.

My sore muscled cried out in relief as they soaked, and the cherry scented bubbles and bath oil soothed my frayed nerves. I sank down in the water and bubbles until only my head remained out of their domain, then leaned my head back against the porcelain sides of the tub. I lost myself in thought.

_Seventeen days… in seventeen days I'll be Vergil's…_

I narrowed my eyes and bit my lower lip.

_God, this is sudden. Well, maybe not for him, what with him deliberating over the issue for five straight months, but for me it's_…

I sank lower in the water.

_It's just come up so fucking _fast

I idly flicked a small mountain of bubble bath into the air with my toe. It rained back down like diamond, cherry flavoured cotton candy.

_I mean, does he expect me to just play along and act all 'wife-y' to him or something? 'Cuz that sure as hell ain't me. _

I sat up in the water, right hand rubbing at the dragon head on my chest absently.

_I mean, he knows me. He knows how cynical I am, how stubborn I can be. _

The bubbles had begun to dissipate; I could make out my pale form lying beneath their fading dregs.

_He knows me._

A new, darker thought struck me, and I felt myself go cold despite the heated bath water.

_But do _I_ know _him

I submerged beneath the water for a long moment, then stood up and out of the bath, the soapy substance running in rivulets down my legs and shoulders. Naked, I stepped out of the tub and walked over to the full length mirror mounted on the bathroom door, then turned so I could once more survey the dragon on my back.

_I did this for him._ I thought. _I went through hell for him, and now I realize I know almost nothing about him._

The wyrm I had been tattooed with seemed to writhe and glisten due to the water cascading down my skin, its pearly scales taking on a glow and sheen unlike any tattoo I had ever seen.

_Even though I don't know him, have no reason to trust him… I do. Inconceivably, I do._

_Why?_

I looked away from the mirror and strode over to the shower in the corner of the facility. I turned the knob to hot and stepped beneath the steady stream, then vigorously shampooed my longer hair. When I finished, I ran the water to icy cold and stood under the flow for about a minute, then killed the stream. Teeth chattering, I began to towel myself dry.

_I feel close to him, like I could tell him anything… not that I have, but all the same…_

I stopped drying myself as the question arose.

_What _are _my feelings for Vergil?_

I began to dry again, though my mind was in turmoil.

_He's like a brother to me… an overly protective, jealous, domineering, awfully _touchy_ brother, but still…_

_But I'm also attracted to him._

I frowned at the realization, but there was no denying it.

_I mean, there's no denying I'm drawn to him physically, but, then again, who wouldn't be?_

Once I was dry, I pulled my damp hair into a ponytail and began to shrug into my clothes.

_But not only physically... as a person, he's... well, I'm attracted to him in that sense, too. _

I frowned as I yanked on my shirt, then let out a defeated sigh.

_And when I _do _come-of-age… I'll be even _more_ drawn to him._

_It's hard to resist _now _as it is._

Dressed, I strode over to the sink and wiped the steam off of the mirror. My face was drawn as I began to apply eyeliner.

_Sooner or later things between us will shift– my stubborn nature can only deny it for so long– and I won't be able to resist_ anything_ any more._

_Will I be ready for it when it happens?_

_Dear God, will I be?

* * *

_

**AUTHOR TIME**

**I am officially still on vacation, but at home. VIVA LA HOME!!!!**

**And I feel wicked about that calendar... German Shepherd on a sexy bed indeed... (giggle)**

**Well… yeah. Lots of "OMG" moments for Jira. This chapter's purpose was to more or less explore Jira's thoughts on Vergil, as well as clear up the whole "did Jira sleep through her coming of age birthday?" question.**

**Cherry bubble bath is the bomb. My sister got me some for Christmas (a huge basket of cherry-scented stuff) and it is amazing.**

**And since she was born in the dark heart of Africa, I added in the whole 'no idea when birthday actually is' bit. Lucky Vergil knew how to clear that up. I thought it was a funny bit to add in, anyway.**

**Notice how the whole time Vergil was talking Jira was wanting to touch him… tee hee. I are evil, yes I are.

* * *

**

**REVIEW REPLIES!!!!! Some of them I might have already emailed people about, but I don't remember everybody. I'm just gonna do them all.**

**Nowshin: She's not quite adult... but I think you got a few sparks this chapter. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Punkrocker505: It was sort of melancholy, you're right. It **is **obvious he cares for her, isn't it? She's just so frikin OBLIVIOUS... **

**Anonymous/Anon: I'm just going to assume you're the same person since your 2 reviews kind of went together. Forgive me if you're two different people... I am very, very flattered you hold my OC in such high regard. I dunno about the making people jealous part, but I thank you just the same. And yay for those pairings! I'm glad to see someone share my tastes.**

**Laochra: Well, I love to update. And since Vergil has had_ five whole months_ to think over Jira's choice, I just suppose he has come to terms with it and felt no need to react in a big way when she woke up again. And please do not spontaneously combust. I would miss your critiquing XD**

**Swift Hunter: Ah, don't we all? Jira is hibernating! Woo-hoo!**

**Kay: Yay to you too! Thanks for the review!**

**DantesDarkQueen: HA HA HA I CALLED IT A WYRM. Anyway, no, she did not sleep through her birthday. She just slept until the eve of it. And the band buddies will re-enter the picture briefly soon, with surprising news. Keep an eye out!**

**CancerStick: You'd better not give my plot away you little... Grr... I can't believe you snooped and found that blasted notebook... well, I hid it better. Boo-yah. Why don't you ever just tell me what you think instead of reviewing? I mean, I see you every day... Anyway, talk to you later.

* * *

**

**You know how, a couple chapters back, I said we were nearly up to four thousand hits? Well, I kinda forgot to say when that happened, but now we're up to about five thousand, so… yeah. THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!! YOU FRIGGIN ROCK!!! I WUV YOU TO ITTY BITTY BITS!!!!!!**

**DEVIL MAY CRY, VERGIL © CAPCOM**

**JIRA, THE BLOOD TIE, THE DRAGON MARK, AND THIS PLOT © VIRM.**


	31. Chapter 30: Gravity

By Blood Connected

_A Fanfiction by Vir M._

Chapter 30:

**"Gravity"**

* * *

A persistent knocking woke me from my heavy slumber. I moaned and rolled over, pressing my face into my pillow. The knocker must have heard me stirring, for they spoke to me: 

"Wake up, Jira."

It was –who else–Vergil.

"... no..." I mumbled weakly.

"Jira, it's noon. It's time for you to get up." He said patronizingly.

"I said NO!" I chucked a pillow at the door mid-sentence to illustrate my point.

"Jira–"

"I am very well aware of the time and I find it perfectly suitable for sleeping, thank you!" I snapped with renewed vigor.

"Don't make me come in there!" He growled.

"Be my guest, buddy!" I barked back.

From deep within my nest of blankets I heard the doorknob turn, and I bolted upright in bed, screaming:

"NO NO DON'T COME IN– I'M NOT DRESSED VERGIL DON'T COME IN—"

The doorknob ceased its rattling and I heard him chuckling dryly from the other side.

"Good morning to you too, Jira. I'll be in the study."

I heard a rustle of cloth– presumably a coattail flapping fluidly as someoneturned on their heel– and footsteps that gradually faded as Vergil walked down the hallway.

"Of all the nerve–" I huffed, now thoroughly awake. I was dressed in a t-shirt and not much else, the 'not much else' consisting of a mere scrap of lace and gauzy material. My philosophy on underwear was 'no one's gonna see 'em, so why wear much?' It was not a good take on undergarments when living with a man.

I shuffled over to the door where I recovered my thrown pillow, then tossed it back onto my bed as I strode over to my closet.

I picked a pair of close-fitting jeans –the ones Ami had so long ago dubbed my 'spray-paint pants' due to their second-skin-like quality– and a form fitting button down black shirt. I rolled the sleeves back to about my elbows, pulled my hair up into a ponytail, and fussed with my long bangs for a moment in the full-length mirror on the closet door. They were so long I was forced to sweep them over one eye. Side-bangs.

I forwent the ever-present black eyeliner on the grounds of laziness. I didn't want to deal with it this morning, despite how much I really needed to wear the stuff. Satisfied with my appearance, I strode over to my door and pulled it open, making sure I was alone in the hall. Once I had discerned that I was, I made my way to the kitchen in order to prepare lunch for myself.

Today was the thirtieth of August; one week since I had awoken from my coma and had finally tried to confront my feelings for Vergil, and ten days until my coming-of-age birthday.

I had spent the last week avoiding Vergil, or at least trying to, given we were stuck in the same house 24/7. I am the type of person who sorts things out best when left alone with my thoughts. My feelings for him were in turmoil; one side of me wanted to embrace the relationship offered to me by the blood tie, but the other more logical side denied everything I felt for him.

I poked my head into the kitchen, found it to be deserted, then walked over to the refrigerator.

Given the time, I thought it would be more appropriate to fix lunch. I decided to fix myself a sandwich, then wondered absently if Vergil had already eaten.

"Maybe I should fix lunch for him, too..." I said aloud. But had he eatenalready or not? I promptly checked the sink: no dirty dishes. Likewise the electric dish-washer.

Feeling satisfied, I went about fixing the sandwiches. When I finished (I knew how to make them like Vergil liked them because I had seen him fix one for himself at one point) I poured him a tall glass of iced tea, took his plate in hand, and made my way to his study.

* * *

He was not there. 

"That liar." I said dispassionately. I stood in the doorway for a long moment before depositing his plate on his large mahogany desk, then turned to leave when something caught my eye.

A lone picture frame stood in the circle of light cast by the single lamp on the desk. In the field of neatly stacked books, papers, and laid out pens, it was conspicuous. I picked up the gilded frame hesitantly, then gasped as I recognized the subject.

Me.

It was a picture of me in my old gym uniform, taken at a three-quarter angle, standing bent over front the waist, hands braced on my knees. I was wearing a joyous, decidedly devious grin on my face, and my amber eyes were strangely illuminated from within their pit of eye-makeup, giving me a feral air.

I was very familiar with the picture: Sarita had taken it one day and had put in the year-book the year I was on the year-book committee, teasing me about my expression all the while.

Though that was before Vergil had come to teach at J. L. Tyler's, the books had been issued during his time as teacher, so he must have clipped it out and...

I set it back down on the desk hastily, blushing. I'd had no idea he kept a photo of me anywhere.

I vacated the room to go fetch Vergil's drink. I did not encounter him on my way to the kitchen, nor on my way back to the study.

"His food'll go bad if he doesn't come along soon..." I mumbled to myself as I saw his untouched meal. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, tea in hand, when–

"Jira?"

I don't think I'd ever jumped that badly before in my life. His iced tea went flying out of my hands as I wheeled around to face him, letting out a gasp of pure fright. I heard the sound of breaking glass as his drink's container broke into shards, though I did not see where it landed.

"You fucking SCARED me!" I bellowed in outrage, staring at the stock-still Vergil with wide eyes.

Vergil, however, did not return my look. He was--- for some strange reason--- focused on the ceiling.

"Vergil?" I asked as my heart rate began its slow return to a more normal level.

He did not answer me nor relocate his gaze, only wordlessly pointed upwards. I followed his direction and looked up–

"Oh SHIT."

The glass had smashed the against ceiling, yet had, for some inexplicable reason, not returned to the floor. It was as if the ceiling was the floor: the broken shards, the ice cubes, and the liquid were splattered across the ceiling as if they had dropped from my hand to the ceiling and smashed; it was as if gravity had reversed itself.

As I stood there, open mouthed and thunder struck, the ice, glass, and tea came crashing back down, as if someone had flicked a switch that sent reality back to normal. The liquid and crystal came raining down on the  
black slate tile, and I stood there in shock for a beat before to the ever-collected Vergil and voiced what I assumed to be the general question reverberating through the still room.

"What the bloody fucking hell is going on?"

* * *

"–And that's what happened." I finished lamely. 

Vergil and I had gated over to Merhusame's twilight world in search of answers as soon as we had recovered from the shock of seeing the laws of physics turned on their heads. Merhusame had listened to both Vergil and my descriptions of the incident with a vapid look of unsurprised serenity.

"It's about time something like this happened..." She sighed prettily.

"Something like what?" I asked.

"Gravity inverting on itself is not a natural occurrence, Merhusame." Vergil concurred bluntly.

"No, no!" Merhusame put a hand to her head theatrically. "You misunderstand!" She rose to her feet fluidly. We had been once again sitting on the cushions around her fire-place, drinking apple cider.

"Do you remember what I did to you during our last meeting, my dear?" Merhusame said with a smile. I stared at her nonplused.

"You took away my virtue and tied my body's life-span to Vergil's, yeah." I said flatly. Merhusame shook her head, a small smile plastered on her full lips.

"And?"

"And?" I bolted to my feet, alarmed. "You mean you did something ELSE,too?!"

"I told you that I would, dear." She said in her honey-sweet voice. "Remember?"

"This isn't–" Vergil said slowly. I turned to look at him: his eyes were shocked. "This isn't what I think it is–"

"Precisely!" Merhusame exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "You are intelligent, dearest!"

"What are you talking about?!" I said loudly, placing my hands on my hips.

"Oh, Jira." Merhusame sighed. "Do you not remember?"

"I awakened your latent magic."

I sat there for a long moment until it sunk in.

When it did, Harry Potter came to mind, and then Gandalf from The Lord Of The Rings. An image of me riding broom stick zoomed around in my skull, and I laughed for a moment.

"Magic... can I turn people into toads?" I asked innocently. Merhusame frowned.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. If I am reading the evidence correctly, your magic does not work that way."

"Fine. So no toad-boys. How does it work?" I asked, pouting, my plans of threatening Vergil with froggy-doom fading fast.

"Well..." Merhusmae began. "If I am right –and I usually am– then it appears you can control gravity."

"Gravity?" My jaw dropped, and I heard Vergil scoff behind me.

"Gravity?" He asked. "How did she get stuck with such a useless talent?"

"Oh, gee, so I'm useless now?" I snapped at him. I did not take kindly to being belittled.

"No, Jira." Merhusame interjected. "It's just that demons have long since stopped practicing gravitational magic; they consider it too defensive and spatially limited." She turned to Vergil and smiled. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Yes." His answer was curt. "No one uses gravity as a weapon anymore; it'simpractical."

"Great." I said dryly. I shook my head to clear my disappointment. "But how do I use it?"

"I have a book on the subject." Merhusame said slowly, eyeing her numerous shelves. "I'll go get it... if I can find it. Hold on a minute, dears."

And with that she glided away from us, searching through the many shelves for the tome in question.

"Useless, eh?" I snapped at Vergil once Merhusame was a safe distance away.

Vergil did not deign to give me an answer, so I saw no point in continuing the conversation. I just stood there sulkily staring at him until Merhusame returned.

"Jira! I found the book!" She called as she floated back towards us. She was clutching a weighty leather bound tome with black-edged pages to her bare chest. I took it wordlessly, flipping to the title page.

"Merhusame..." I said slowly as I studied it. "I can't read this."

"Oh? Why ever not?" She asked, perplexed, walking around so she could look at the pages over my shoulder.

"I don't know this language, for one thing."

It was written in strange, fluid symbols that seemed to churn on the page. They were written in strange, dark brown ink that looked like congealed blood... and seemed to pop off of the page and straight into my brain. They  
burned themselves into my memory, yet their meaning seemed just beyond my grasp.

"Oh, dear, of course you don't! How silly of me; it's in _waerdyn_."

Of course, I had no idea what this '_waerdyn_' stuff was, but Vergil obviously did.

"I did not know they had a written language." He said stiffly, rising to his feet.

Merhusame gave a throaty laugh.

"Only their chiefs could learn it, so it did not become very wide-spread."

"What's _waerdyn_?" I asked as Merhusame plucked the book from my hands. She did not answer me, and instead set the book gently on the floor. She gestured for me to back up, and I complied.

She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest, violet eyes closed in concentration. She then extended them, holding them in the air over the book.

Her fingers spread wide and intermeshed, her violet-lacquered nails glimmering in the firelight.

Then she spoke a word I was unfamiliar with, on par with the demonic version of her own name I had once heard Vergil utter. It was dark, perverse, yet honey-sweet, like icing on a cake that made you want to gag yet stuff yourself with more.

The tome shone with a deep red light before being washed over with a wave of golden energy so intense I had to look away. When I looked back at the book a moment later, the light had vanished and Merhusame had picked it up. She held it out to me and I took it.

"In this book you will find instructions on how to use your gravitational abilities." She said cheerfully. "I have translated it into English for you."

"What are the _waerdyn_?" I reiterated. She sighed tragically.

"They were a demon clan who were famous for their inborn ability tomanipulate gravity.But alas, they were wiped out during the war between Sparda and the King Of Hell."

"Oh." I said softly, looking down at the book in my arms with renewed respect.

"Yes." Merhusame continued. "They divided themselves– the legion majority with the King, and the talented minority with the rebel Sparda– and killed each other off. With their fall, gravitational magic was no longer considered 'in vogue,' if you will." She gave a pained sigh and embraced herself. "So tragic. They were such an amusing people."

"Er... I bet they were." I mumbled.

Vergil's hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. "Let's get going." He said bluntly. I nodded at him, bid Merhusame goodbye, and made my way back to the portal.

* * *

As it turns out, my power over gravity worked best when I was either scared, angry, or happy, though I had no control over its effects in such cases. Otherwise I could barely use it all. 

The book was helpful, yes, but Merhusame's translation was in Old English and I could hardly keep up with the 'thees' and 'thous.'

It instructed me to 'call up thy power from deep within the innermost reaches of thy being' and 'purge thyself of sentient thought.'

That translates as is 'clear your mind, dumbass, and forget about the gorgeous blue eyes boring into your back by the one person in the world you're trying to not think about.'

Yeah.

That really helped.

Vergil was insisting on 'assisting' me with my training, but in truth was hindering me more than helping. His mere presence affected me at this point, causing me to think of nothing else but him.

For five whole days I labored on simply reversing gravity again. I could do it when I didn't think about it, but doing it consciously was another story.

"This is impossible!" I whined, slinging myself onto the living room couch. Vergil was occupying an arm-chair, reading, and smiled wryly at my words.

"Why are you trying so hard?" He asked, eyes solemn. "You do not need to master this." I glared at him.

"I wanna master it because it's mine." I growled. "It's like getting your own car: you get one and you learn drive it. Simple as that." I propped my feet up on the glass coffee table in front of the couch. Vergil gave me a disapproving look, but I did not relocate them. "I mean, if I go out in public I'll need to control it and all... besides, it's kinda cool. I never dreamed I'd use magic."

Vergil observed my little rant with some amusement. When I had finished talking, his look relaxed expression was replaced by an intense stare that sent a shiver down my spine.

"All this aside, Jira... I have something to ask you." He intoned, slowly closing his book while leaning forward in his seat. His cobalt eyes practically smoldered, and once again I was struck close to dumb by his erotic masculine beauty.

I met his gaze evenly, keeping my face a careful neutral. Inside, however, my pulse began to race.

"What?" I asked calmly. In my head I was panicking. Talking to him without reducing myself to a blushing fool was becoming increasingly difficult as I marked off the days on my German Shepherd calendar.

"I was... wondering–" He began haltingly. "– if you would–"

His regal demeanor seemed to crumple at this point; he breathed a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze.

"I am not used to this." He murmured, eyes flicking back to me. I gave him what I thught to be an encouraging look, which seemed to fortify his resolve slightly, seeing as how he continued.

"On the eve of your... birthday, I was wondering if you would like to..." Hegrit his teeth for a moment, swallowed, then finished with the words "–accompany me to dinner in town."

I stared at him a moment, blinking.

"Like a date?" I blurted dumbly. I promptly gave my self a jarring mental flogging and blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at Vergil.

"I suppose you could put it like that." I heard him say. I dared to glance at him out of the corner of my eye. A ghost of a smile hovered around his eyes and lips. "Yes. A date. Would you accompany me on one, Jira?"

"Yes!" I said after only the slightest moment of hesitation, unable to stop myself from smiling.

Seeing this, Vergil's own heart-stopping smile surfaced, and I found myself staring openly. I quickly looked away, blush rising once more.

"I mean...uh... sure..." I mumbled.

I bolted to my feet, grabbing Merhusame's gravity book, not able to take the tension.

"Well..." I began. "I'm gonna go practice some more. Cheerio!" I gave him a wave before fleeing.

* * *

I shut the door to my room behind me slowly, and heavily leaned against it. 

I began to grin.

I didn't stop.

"Vergil..." I said slowly, disbelievingly. "Asked me on a date."

As it finally sunk in, my ginned widened. I leaned my head back against the door.

"I've never been this happy in my life..." I whispered, clutching my book to my chest.

"Never in my life."

I twirled once on my heel, grinning and giggling like a loon, then noticed  
that everything in my room that was not nailed down was levitating about  
three feet in the air.

* * *

* * *

AUTHOR TIME 

This was a long chapter. Be grateful, I could;ve vut it off as soo nas they left Merhusame' cavern. Instead you got some fluff. PRAISE ME!!!!! GIVE ME COOKIES!!!!!! Ahem... moving on.

**Meh-heh... meh-heh-heh... It surprised me that no one brought up the whole "what does Jira's 'latent magic' stuff that Merhusame awakened do?" question. Well, now you see some evidence of it. And Jira likes the Dresden Dolls... so the line "immune to gravity" in their song "Girl Anachronism" should be kinda more significant now...**

**And soon Jira and Vergil go on their daaaate... I are evil, yes I are. CLIFFY FOR JOOOO!**

**Gah! And I keep forgetting to say this!!! This fan fiction will have a sequel that will CROSS OVER with another DMC fan-fic I am writing. That other fic is called "The Influx," and if you feel like reading something new when you get through with this, go check it out! It has a lovely little cliff-hanger...**

**And the AuthorTime section is getting longer and longer due to my 'let's answer reviews' thing. Bear with me; FFnet isn't sending out alerts and PrivateMessages!**

**DantesDarkQueen: The romantical crap just kind of builds up towards her coming of age day... The relationship switch as you put it won't be a complete 180 or anything, but a gradual switch.**

**Virtue... actually doesn't do much. We, as humans, throw it away almost daily. People kill each other for a pair of sneakers or 60 bucks from a "stop n'go" cash register. She lost her virtue in a less messy manner... through a demon's kiss. **

**Nowshin: Jira is, in essence, an idiotic being. She is as emotionally sensitive as a rock. And yes, she is feeling very insecure. And please, do not kill yourself! Or me either, for that matter. Who will write the story if I perish, and who will read it if _you_ do?**

**Destructo888: I'm glad you liked it. Did you really read it in one sitting? I can never sit still for that long!**

**Tariell: It's not your fault you missed two chapters, the story alert isn't working (neither are the private messages, which is why I've started answering questions in the chapter). And I figured it was about time Jira thought things out where we could see the process her little brain takes. Glad you enjoyed!**

**Loachra: Yes, you did pull a Yoda. And yes, the story alert is not working (ditto private messaging). I will try my very best to make it un-anticlimactic. I have a plan. FEAR ME! Oh, and the change in relationship status will be gradually building towards the day. And it did sound perverted. I spit out my soda when I read it the first time. DIRTY LAOCHRA! And a tattoo?! SERIOUSLY!? What's it look like? That's so cool!**

**Kay: I am glad you rate me so highly. You rule! One of the reasons I switched from answering reviews through private messages to in the 'Author Time' section was because I never was able to send you replies (same with all anonymous reviews, but you are my most consistent one). You should get a pen-name. Salute!**

**CancerStick: There's a fine fine line... between wooing... and seduction You know, that actually fits to the tune of "There's a fine fine line" from Avenue Q. That was an amazing show. We both nearly cried from laughing. And I think Vergil is handsome no matter who writes him. My notes are confusing, ne? I do that intentionally. (Ma ha ha!) **

**J: Wow, you gave me some really long reviews! Thanks! You get a really long review reply in return. Anyway, I don't think Vergil would've been too put off by the song, but JIRA sure would have. That song is just kind of AWKWARD in close spaces around people you fell slightly attracted towards... or just teachers, because that's what he is to her at the moment... a hot teacher but a teacher none-the-less... And there is actually a reason it is on his ipod... I'm writing a one-shot about Vergil&his ipod that explains his songs and such, so keep an eye out!And you are indeed correct; Vergil is a half-human so the blood tie picked a human (only when people say 'halfhuman' they normally mean 'less than human' so it is more proper to say 'equal parts human and demon.' I use that line in a up-and-coming chapter, so you've been warned.). There really is no reason WHY, though, it just did. The blood tie is COMPLETELY random. And pretty much the only human he cares for is Jira. He just tolerates the others in order to be around her. Stupid, I know, but he cannot stay apart from her and must therefore practice toleration. There's another one-shot on the way for that. ****And as for the armor... well, whoever said it was Nelo Angelo's? I just said it LOOKED like it. Mwa ha ha mystery!**

**BlackLadyCharon: FFnet is on the fritz AGAIN... Grr. I hope you get that mess cleaned up okay... Dante is a party animal.**

**I know there's a lot of "unsolved mysteries" in the story, but I am going to come out with a fiction entitled "Static Connection" (well, the title is pending, not set in stone) that contains deleted scenes from BBC, scenes I could not used that added flavor to the story, and the alternate way scenes may have run if I had not written them the way I did. It will clear many of the unsolved mysteries up in a flash, as well as add new dimension and colour to Jira's saga.**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED, LATENT MAGIC, AND JIRA © VIR M.**


	32. Chapter 31: Relocation

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-Fiction By VirM._

Chapter 31:

"**Relocation"

* * *

**

I practiced my gravitational abilities diligently over the next few days. I am quite the task master, and somehow the term 'date' and 'gravity' were connected in the deepest parts of my subconsciousness. I used gravity to escape the anxiety looming just behind me. If I could master levitation, I would survive on my date.

Probably, anyway. My mind links strange, totally inconsequential things sometimes.

My German Shepherd calendar also seemed to hover just behind each thought of mine. The countdown to my birthday grew shorter and shorter, and with its diminishing came more flooding anxiety.

When only two days remained until my birthday, Vergil voiced with a surprising request.

"Get packed, Jira." He said that morning as I blearily stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast.

"Huh?" I asked, as eloquent as always. He chuckled and my heart fluttered in response, all sleepiness vacating my sight and senses.

"We're going on a trip for a few days. We leave in the morning." He said, eyes alight.

"Where to?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. "Why?" Vergil laughed again. I scowled in response.

"It's a surprise." His eyes glittered, sparkling brightly underneath the kitchen's fluorescent lights. "So no hints. Pack things suitable for all climates."

"And what about our date?" I blurted. My face flushed and I busied myself by turning to get a box of cereal out of a cabinet, carefully keeping my eyes averted.

"I haven't forgotten." I heard him murmur. I turned to him, and he was smiling again.

I reflexively grinned back, blushed once again, and then proceeded with breakfast.

* * *

He woke me up at the crack of dawn the next morning by way of a shaking I would characterize as 'violent.' Well, at least to a peacefully sleeping person it was 'violent.' It would have been categorized as 'gently forceful' to any sane person who was even slightly more awake than I. 

"Wake up." He ordered.

"But it's so early..." I whined into my pillow, burying my face in the downy square.

"We leave in an hour." I heard Vergil say. "No buts. Get up, now."

I heard him vacate the room, then rolled over in response, stumbling out of my warm bed in preparation for the long day ahead.

* * *

As soon as I was dressed and had loaded all of my suit-cases into the trunk of Vergil's car, we set off for the airport. Once there, Vergil checked our bags and purchased out plane tickets... all without letting me check the boarding passes to see where our final destination was. 

"You're infuriating." I said loudly as we took our seats on the plane. The airplane in question was a small one; it only accommodated about twenty or so passengers at any given time, and was not even full.

"How so?" He asked, feigning innocence as he stowed my carry-on in the overhead compartment.

"As if you don't know." I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

I stared out the window at the tarmac, pointedly ignoring the man next to me. I heard him rustling around in his duffel bag for a moment before feeling sudden pressure on both of my ears. I jumped, startled and confused.

"Wha–" I tried to say, but for some strange reason I could not hear myself speak. Putting a hand to either side of my head, I realized that Vergil had slipped a set of ear-phones over my ears. I looked at him inquisitively, making to take them off, but he placed his long-fingered hands over mine to keep them in their position. The sudden contact in so confined a space set my nerve endings into smarting fits. I blushed, but did not relocate my hands; simply left them underneath his own, unable to concentrate on anything but their warmth.

He looked at me for a long moment, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. His eyes then flicked upwards toward the low ceiling of the plane for a moment; intent, triumphant. I absently wondered why, preoccupied with his heated hands on my own. He waited for about a minute before gently taking the head-phones away.

"Sound canceling ear pieces." He said intoned quietly, chuckling. "You just missed our destination announcement."

It took a moment for that to process, and when it did I was livid.

"DUDE!" I nearly roared. A passing flight attendant gave me a disapproving look, but made no comment.

I was going to continue when the captain came over the intercom and ordered everyone to take their seats, effectively silencing me mid-rant.

* * *

"So how has the gravity been coming along?" Vergil asked once we had been in the air for about twenty minutes or so. 

I jumped, then scowled at him. I had been ignoring him up until now.

"Alright." I said quietly. I smiled wryly. "Wanna see what I've figured out so far?" I couldn't help but feel the need to flaunt my progress.

Vergil nodded at me after looking about the cabin for a moment. The stewardesses were occupied farther back in the cabin, and since there were only about five other passengers besides us onboard we were more or less alone.

We had been served drinks earlier on, and I placed mine onto the tray table in front of me.

"I've figured out..." I began, focusing my attention onto the plastic glass before me. "... that it works best if I add a little... 'physical suggestion' to the object beforehand..."

I glared at the glass for a moment, then slammed my hands down onto the tray table on either side of it. The plastic dish shot into the air and hovered right in front of my eyes for about five seconds, before slowly descending back to the table-top.

I grinned at the glass, then looked at Vergil. His eyes were amused.

"You've still got a long way to go." He observed laughingly. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"I tried didn't I?" I asked. He merely shrugged, then turned away.

I decided not to pursue the subject any farther. Inside, however, I was growing dismal, disappointed.

_Am I never good enough for him?_

* * *

I fell asleep about thirty minutes later, thoughts dark. When I next awoke, it was to Vergil gently shaking me via my right shoulder. 

"We're here." He offered me a small, small smile, as well as a hand to help me to my feet. I took it without a word as soon as the sleep cleared from my eyes, glad for the touch but disdaining the mundane reason behind it.

* * *

Once we had vacated the plane and retrieved our baggage, Vergil lead me from the air-port to the out-doors. 

Before we left the air conditioned interior, however, he handed me a length of black-cloth.

"Um... what's this for?" I asked, confused.

"It's a blind-fold." He said blandly. "Put it on."

"No!" I said resolutely. He sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair.

"Jira..." His look was pained, but pleading. "... it adds to the surprise. Please..." He trailed off, then caught me where I stood with one look from his cobalt eyes. "...Please...

"For me?"

Now just how in the world could I say no to that?

* * *

**

* * *

**

AUTHOR TIME

**I haven't updated in a while... and if I had kept going with this it would've been a HUGE chapter... so I cut it off. So sorry. But it picks up next chapter or so. Be on the look out. Sorry for the shortness/uneventfulness.**

**We figure out next time just where the hell he's taken her!** **Yay! And I believe some of you asked for steam... well, we get it soon. And then some (wink).**

**And I got an Xanga (a link is in my profile) that I will be posting update alerts on. Bookmark it and visit it every few days, so that in the event that FFnet screws up again you'll know if I've updated. Hope to see you make use of it!**

**I also made some DMC fan-art (spoofish stuff) that you can see. I'll post a link on my Xanga in case you're interested.**

_**REVIEW REPLIES:**_

**NAERYX GENESIS: **I'm glad to turn you away from such assumptions. Ocs aren't ALL bad... And as for the Dante question... well, everyone asks that, and you're getting the same answer: MAYBE, JUST WAIT AND SEE

**DARK KUNOICHI:** I'm glad you're enjoying it. Huaazh!

**AMY: **Yeah, that'd be awkward. I do envy Jira, though... lucky girl. I WANT VERGIL!!! WAH!!! (cries)

**LADY CRYSTINE RAYNE:** I'm glad you do. Thanks!

**SWIFT HUNTER:** Hey, flight could happen. You never know. Thanks for reviewing!

**BLACK LADY CHARON:** Wow... Arkansas. Fun. You crack me up. (L.O.L. and all that jazz)

**MARLOES:** I had the same problem with a tutor of mine, but we worked it all out. He moved, but we keep in touch. Glad to hear from you! Thanks for the review!

**NORIENTRA: **I do so love cliff-hangers. Glad to hear from you! Thanks for the review!

**TARIELL: **Yeah, cars floating might be a problem. Just MAYBE, though. (Ha ha. Grin)

**PR505:** again... FFNET JUST SUCKS SOMETIMES. Ha ha wow... good times...

**ICE CAMARO:** Wow... the odd image of Vergil doing that is just... creepy. But he's too much of a gentleman to do that, I think. It'll all work out in the end (mysterious wink)

**J:** The date's coming. Next chapter or so. Keep an eye out! (wink).

**DESTRUCTO888**: Glad to hear it, and glad to have you aboard! Thanks for the review!

**LAOCHRA:** NICE NICE NICE! Tattoos are pretty damn cool, in my opinion. It sounds very prettiful (giggle)

**DANTES DARK QUEEN:** Is that what Beowolf was in? I just called it "I HATE THIS LANGUAGE DIE DIE DIE." Or maybe that was just me (head hits desk repeatedly)

**KAY/DEVILMAYCRY HARUKA**: Glad to see you on a pen-name! YAY!!!!

**Until next time!**

**DMC/VERGIL © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	33. Chapter 32: It's A Nice Change

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-Fiction by VirM._

Chapter 32:

"**It's A Nice Change"

* * *

**

I tore my eyes away from his and quickly raised the cloth up to cover my field of vision. I knotted the fabric behind my head quickly, then stood stock still, waiting, the cotton rasping slightly against my skin. I felt an arm slip around my shoulders, and found myself clenched tightly to Vergil's side.

Robbed of my sight, my other senses seemed to sharpen. I was able to pick up the scent of Vergil's cologne again, as well as his own appealing scent underlying the fragrance.

The din of the other travelers permeated my hearing, and every blind step I took seemed to shock its way up my calves. I could feel the crowd of people around us pressing close, creating a claustrophobic effect, and I found myself shrinking into Vergil's warm side in order to not be swept away.

Not that he would have allowed that. I doubt an earthquake could have torn me from him.

We walked for a few minutes, Vergil leading me, blind as I was. Eventually we exited the building; I could tell due to the slight breeze that ruffled my hair as we stepped out side, as well as by noticing the voices of the passerby all but vanish.

"Mr. Aeneid?"

I jumped as a deep voice intoned Vergil's chosen surname. Vergil gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze that sent a warm shiver down my spine before replying.

"Hello, Lawliette."

'_Lawliette?_' I thought to myself. _Who's that?_ My wondering was cut short as Vergil answered my unspoken question:

"Jira, Lawliette is my chauffeur." Vergil's voice was brisk, businesslike, though not unkind. "He is responsible for your transportation."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, madame." I heard Lawliette say seriously.

"Likewise." I quipped brightly. "But hey– let's blow this joint. I'm eager to get moving."

Lawliette chuckled, and then I heard a car-door open somewhere off to my left. Vergil, utilizing the arm still wound around my torso, steered me towards the vehicle. He helped me inside, then climbed in after. I heard another door open –presumably the driver's– and then the car lurched into life. The seats were slick leather, and I slid half-way across one half-way through the first turn the car made.

The seats, however, were very, very long. Deprived of sight, I used my limited knowledge of cars to figure out the obvious:

We were most likely in a limo. This spacious interior was testament to my assumption, and when I asked Vergil about it, he verified my claim.

"I enjoy the best, Jira." He admonished. "Though I do have several cars here for when I wish to venture out on my own."

"I... bet you do." I mumbled, wondering:_ Just how vast is his wealth, anyway? _It seemed to have no bounds.

Brushing those thoughts aside, I once again asked:

"Where are we going?" I was met with silence for a moment, and then Vergil sighed.

"We're going to The View."

I processed this, but did not comprehend.

"What's that?" I asked. "A nightclub?" He chuckled at that.

"No." Vergil said. "Far from it, actually..." He trailed off, and then murmured:

"You'll understand once we get there."

* * *

When the limo glided to a stop, Vergil grasped me by the elbow and helped to lever me out of the car's interior.

The first thing I noticed in my blinded state was the sound.

As my shoes crunched over gravel, a roaring, rhythmic rush seemed to rumble beneath the ground, vibrating upward into my calves. It seemed to launch a cry up into the air, so intense a sound that I gasped aloud.

With that gasp I inhaled the air of this place. It was unlike anything I had ever breathed before. It was tangy, wild, mild, and... salty?

Yes, that was indeed salt-saturated air invading my lungs, feeling for all the world like purest oxygen. But why in the world was salt in the air–

_No–_ I thought, suddenly gripped with excitement. _–It couldn't be... could it?_

But the sound, this scent... they all pointed to one thing–

I suddenly felt pressure at the back of my skull. I reached up with a hand to find Vergil's fingers gently unknotting the blindfold covering my eyes. I let my fingers slip away as he gently unwound the cloth, choosing to remain silent, waiting with bated breath.

Vergil did not give me back my vision, however. He held the black cloth over my eyes for a long moment, then bent, and in a low, low voice said in my ear–

"You once told me you had always wished to see it, so I–"

He had unconsciously brushed his lips over the shell of my ear, and I could not suppress the sudden, violent shudder that ran through me. He drew in a breath, then dropped his voice to a whisper.

"–I decided that this was the only worthy place to bring you."

And with that, he let the cloth drop, allowing me to behold the most vivid painting nature could ever create:

A sunset–

–over the sea.

* * *

I stood still for a long, long moment as I tried to make sense of it all.

You see, I had never seen the sea before.

And I had never thought it would be as lovely as this.

Vergil and I were atop a cliff, standing at the guardrail along side a highway that stretched for miles behind it. I walked forward and clenched the steel railing in my hands, looking down at the waves and rocks below. They crashed against one another in a symphony of movement, spraying the jagged boulders jutting from the water with flecks of diamond foam.

I raised my eyes from the smaller waves to the glorious sunset displayed before me.

It was the sheer amount of colour that astounded me the most: whorls of pink, orange, pale blue, and lilac that blended together flawlessly over the silver sea. They stained the stormy water a pale russet that merged with the horizon seamlessly, rendering me unable to tell where sea ended and sky began.

"It's beautiful..." I whispered, voice swept away by the wind. My hair tangled about my shoulders in the salty breeze, whipped into my eyes, but I didn't care. I was too much in awe of the sheer vastness of the beautyso casually laid out by nature's purest chance to shield them from the wind.

* * *

I stood there for many long, long minutes, until the last dregs of colour washed themselves out of the sky and surrendered themselves to the dark of night. Stars spattered amongst the clouds as a crescent moon rose from the waves, casting silver glints and shadows over the crashing waves and still waters.

"Was this worth the wait, Jira?"

I turned, tearing my eyes away from the sky to look at Vergil. His eyes were shadowed in the night, his voice softer than the mild night breeze flowing around us.

"Yes." I breathed, and then:

"Thank you."

He took a step forward, joining me alongside the railing that kept me from plummeting towards the waves and rocks below.

"Back when I was your teacher..." Vergil began softly. "You said that you had never seen the sea, but had always wanted to."

I didn't answer.

If I did, I would ruin the moment.

I turned to him, taking in his features.

The moonlight made his hair glisten in the half-light, casting it a bright silver shade that I had never seen the equal of. His skin, so much like living, breathing marble, seemed to glow in the light of the thin crescent above us.

It was his eyes that captivated me the most, despite his other features. They were overshadowed in this dim silver light, but their irises seemed to glow with a warm cobalt unequal to anything I had ever seen. He was beautiful, and my heart ached in bitter-sweet agony as I looked at him.

I offered him a smile, and he returned the expression, sending my heart into fluttering spasms. Those smiling lips of his were more devastating than a tank, sending the barriers around my heart plummeting into ruin.

A thought struck me as I took in that smile.

"You know..." I began, looking back at the glimmering ocean spread out before us. "... I've noticed something."

I turned and looked at Vergil again. His eyes were perplexed, the smile having vanished in the wake of his confusion.

"And that would be...?" He prompted quietly, eyes nearly smoldering in the moonlight.

"You..." I began slowly. His eyes glittered intently in the semidarkness, and I gave him the sweetest smile I could muster.

"You smile more than you did at first."

His blank look turned to one of amazed shock, then amused acceptance of the statement.

"You used to be a total wall." I laughed at his open admission. "But now... you smile almost every day."

"And–" I looked out at the silver sea once more.

"–It's a nice change."**

* * *

**

AUTHOR TIME

**So it started off kinda slow... but I think it picked up nicely there at the end, don't you?**

**Well, Jira had never seen the ocean before, so I guess Vergil thought it was about time she did... Anyway, Vergil has a house there too. That comes next chapter.**

**Well, anyway, this is not the steam I promised. THAT comes later, and it'll be WAY cool (well, at least I THINK it will be). I'm itching to write it, frankly. MUST... WRITE... STEAM! I've got it all nice and planned out, and I think what I've got so far is ... nice and toasty. Tasty too. Yum. Salivating good time. Wheeeee! I dunno if ya'll will like it or not, but I do so... yeah.**

**Two new chapters in two days. I Must Love You Guys! GIVE ME COOKIES!!!**

**Oh, and remember to check my Xanga for updates if FFnet fritzes out again!**

**REVIEW REPLIES!!**

**CANCERSTICK: **I wouldn't either. Vergil is smoooooth...

**DANTESDARKQUEEN:** My first idea was for him to take her to Paris, but then I realized that simply letting her see the sea for the first time was rather romantic. He's just that kind of guy. Plus, the ocean plays a big role in a rather pivotal– I'VE SAID TOO MUCH. YOU DIDN'T SEE AAAANYYTHIIIING (mimics penguins from the movie "Madagascar")

**LAOCHRA: **I've got all of you used to getting long chapters... but sadly, I can't always manage one. And yes, swoon is a good word. Yay for swoonage!

**J:**Well, the last time he tried that Jira wasn't dressed decently. Just a t-shirt and underpants. Skimpy ones at that. I think she wised up to it and wore something to bed that time(face-hit-desk). But the blood-tie... probably had something to do with it. It's nefarious... damn it! And remember when I mentioned in the chapter where she woke up from her little remission period that her side of the bed was all nice and the other side was rumpled? Well, in my little brain Vergil was probably sleeping next to her during her time of remission (giggle). Isn't that sweet? STEAM IS COMING SOON! BE PREPARED!!!!

**BLACKLADYCHARON: **Happy now? They went to the SEA!!!!! Possibly California... ah, well, just use your imagination. Have fun!

**DEVILMAYCRYHARUKA:** Now you know! Thanks for reviewing!

**PUNKROCKER505: **Steam is coming... Be prepared. BE PREEEPAAAAARED!!!! (imitates Lion King song... best song EVER)

**TARIELL:** I'm glad you like their bond/stuff/thing. It has been a bitch to pace: I tried not to make it too fast, but not too snail-paced, either. Glad you enjoyed!

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	34. Chapter 33: Nerves

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-Fiction by VirM._

Chapter 33:

"**Nerves"

* * *

**

My watch read eleven-thirty A.M. when I woke up.

I sat up in bed groggily, running a hand through my hair as I took in the white marble walls of my sea-side room.

The events of the night before drifted gently back into the fore-front of my mind as I sat there, white cotton sheets and comforter rumpled around my waist.

After viewing the sunset from the top of that cliff, Vergil had shown me back to his other home, the one I was currently occupying.

The house was huge: a two story mansion of Mediterranean architecture; all warm white stucco and soaring arches. The occasional white pillar accented the house in places, supporting the arched ceilings and domes that made up the roof.

A circle driveway, lined with sego and date palms, curved in front of the house to the base of the blush coloured tile steps that lead up to the tall front doors.

The house was located on its own strip of private beach; an isolated curve of unpolluted blue water and a crescent of white sand. A pathway, marked out by wooden arches painted white, wound its way through the sea grasses on the edge of the curve of sand and down to the beach, where it terminated into a small gazebo.

"I hate this house." Vergil had said as we had pulled up the driveway.

I actually enjoyed the architecture, and let him know as much. He had merely laughed at my claim, then fallen silent.

* * *

My room was located on the second floor at the back of the house. A balcony– framed with large glass doors and white curtains– provided me with an unparalleled view of the ocean, and I had taken advantage of the cool sea breeze by sleeping with the doors open. 

The salty breeze made the gauzy curtains flow gently on the wind, casting light shadows over the sheets covering my feet. I inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of the ocean air, relishing it.

I swung my legs out of bed, shivering slightly as my bare feet hit the cool tile of the floor. Whistling happily, I stood, then proceeded to exit the room on the grounds of finding breakfast.

* * *

The kitchen, located at the back of the house on the first floor, was large and filled with industrial sized appliances. An island had been added to the center of the space, and tall wooden bar stools were arranged around it casually. 

The place, despite the friendly looking bar stools, looked as if it was home to a team of elite chefs' apprentices, not a bachelor's infrequent summer home.

I meandered over to the tall stainless steel refrigerator when it caught my eye.

There was a note tacked to the refrigerator door with a small black magnet.

I pulled it off, curious, and saw my name penned at the top in a fluid, spiky, familiar script that I recognized at once.

Vergil's handwriting.

I devoured the note. It read:

_Jira–_

_I decided this was the best place to leave a note for you, since you seem to visit this room so often back home._

I ground my teeth at that, peeved at his apparent need to poke fun at me at every given turn. The note continued in a more civil fashion:

_Regrettably, I will be absent for the duration of the day. If you need anything, you may contact Lawliette via the telecom system located in the pantry. Spend the day however you wish, but be ready to leave by seven-thirty this evening. Try not to late._

_Yours,_

_V._

"Leave?" I asked aloud. "But where are we–"

My eyes widened.

"Oh SHIT." I put a hand to my mouth and had to steady myself against the cold refrigerator door.

Today was the eighth, meaning...

Tonight was our date, and --not long after midnight-- my birthday.

* * *

I moodily poured my self a bowl of cereal, mulling over the day to come. 

One half of me was nervous– another, excited.

"I wonder where we'll go..." I said aloud, pecking at my now-soggy cereal with a spoon. "Probably somewhere nice, knowing Vergil... OH GOD, WHAT WILL I WEAR?!"

I promptly leapt from my stool and all but threw my bowl of uneaten cereal into the sink. I exited the kitchen at top speed, taking another look at my watch as I bolted up to my room.

It was twelve-forty-five P.M. I had plenty of time to get ready. My pace slowed at I mounted the stairs in the entry hall that led to the wing of the house my room was in.

* * *

Almost three hours of intense outfit planning later, I began to grow frustrated. 

When I had packed for this trip I had brought lots of clothing, but most of it was too casual for what I expected the dress code to require.

I had packed a multitude of jeans, a plethora of skirts, a score of tank-tops and t-shirts, and boundless pairs of leggings.

I had not, however, thought to pack a skirt, let alone a nice dress. Not that I owned one or anything, aside from my old Halloween dress, not that I'd even thought to bring it along. I somehow figured that that dress would not be appreciated at whatever place we decided to rendezvous to.

"This sucks." I said acidly to no one in particular. "I mean really royally sucks. I'm gonna look so stupid in front of Vergil, tonight of all nights..." I stole another glance at my watch: it was nearly four o'clock.

"Shit!" I gasped. "I need a shower!" I promptly ran into the bathroom off on one side of my room.

The bathroom had been done in white and gold coloured marble with gold faucets and handles. A large white bath tub, finely crafted at the lips of the tub to resemble flecks of sea foam, was placed in one corner, and a matching sink was situated next to it. The tub had a curtian ixture around it to afford the bather privacy, and there was also a detachable shower head to allow showering as opposed to an actual bath.

I bustled over to the tub and turned on the water, adjusting the water to a nicely heated temperature. As I waited for the tub to fill, I fetched shampoo, conditioner, soap, and a razor from my bag. I arranged them on the side of the tub, turned off the water as it reached a pleasing depth, and stripped myself of my clothes.

I hissed as I sank into the hot water, all at once grateful for and despising the heat. I lowered myself into the liquid until it covered my shoulders, then submerged completely. I had to rise up and out of it almost immediately due to the heat.

Water streamed off of me in shining waves, running out of my hair in rivulets. I shook my head to clear my eyes, then placed a hand over the left side of my chest as I caught sight of the dragon's head tattooed there.

Rubbing at the thing had become a habit of mine. When wearing skin-baring shirts, I could just see it out of the corner of my eye, and it bothered me. It seemed I was always subconsciously attempting to rub it off of my skin.

I could also see the dragon's claws that gripped my should, and when naked I could see the dragon's wings cupping the sides of my breasts. These did not bother me as much as the dragon's delicately tapered skull and magnificent eye, however. The dragon always seemed to stare at me possessively, and that nagging glance was forever hovering at the back of my mind.

Brushing the thoughts of the tattoo aside, I proceeded to soap myself down and shave, then shampoo and condition my hair via the shower head over the bath tub. The entire process took about an hour, and by the time I had finished and risen from the bath the water had turned luke-warm.

I toweled dry and slipped into a pair of tight denim shorts and a sweat shirt, then blow dried my hair. I styled it with a flat iron and left it hanging loose around my shoulders, which took another hour. I was bad at styling my hair, and usually just let it drip dry. This time, however, I desired perfection and was pressed for time, so styling it myself seemed the logical choice.

It was six o'clock by the time my hair was done to my satisfaction, and since I had no idea at what time Vergil would be returning home I decided to wait for another hour in my room. I wiled away the time by alternately pacing, leafing through books without really reading them, and talking to myself about the evening to come.

By seven, I couldn't take it anymore. I was just too nervous.

I fled my room and ran into the kitchen, looking wildly around for Vergil– no such luck. I was about to turn around and conduct a thorough of the house when I felt a hand descend onto my shoulder.

"Jira."

I leapt about a foot in the air at the touch and my name. I spun around to find Vergil staring down at me.

"Oh it's just you." I breathed in a rush. His arm slowly retracted as he took his hand off of my shoulder, and I mourned the loss of contact once again. I so forgot to mourn the loss, however, because at that moment I caught sight of his figure.

Vergil was looking handsome, more so than usual, and that's saying a lot. His hair was styled the same way as usual, but he was wearing such a flattering outfit I couldn't help but stare.

He was sporting a pair of nicely tailored jeans that were deep, deep blue, a pair of tall black boots, and elegant black shirt with a strange high collar that made his skin almost luminesce. The look was casual, elegant, simple, yet astounding. A four inch thick rectangular box was held in the crook of his arm, giving him the comical appearance of the most heart-stopping delivery boy on earth.

"Where were you all day?" I asked, shaking myself out of my beauty-induced stupor. He gave a dry chuckle.

"Nowhere you need to worry about." He said softly. He then looked me up and down, smiling slightly as a blush coloured in my cheeks.

"You're not dressed." He observed. I bristled at that.

"Well, since I don't know where we're going I can't very well dress for the evening, now can I?" I asked cooly. He merely rolled his eyes, then held out the mystery box.

The box was a deep velvet blue, tied with a white satin ribbon. No words were inscribed on it, and I gave Vergil a confused look as I plucked the box out of his hands.

"Wear this." He said, a slight smile spreading across his features as I took it. "It should fit you."

"Um... okay?" I said, hand reaching to tug the ribbon away from the box and open it right then and there. Before I could, however, Vergil's hand shot out and clasped mine in his. I startled at the contact and froze, like a deer in the headlights.

"Don't." He said. His voice was achingly, uncharacteristically pleading, and my heart fluttered within my chest like a caged bird. "Just go get dressed."

He released my hand, and I let the appendage fall limp at my side. To hide my blush, I turned without a word and fled to my room.

* * *

Once safely inside, I put a hand to my face and slumped to the floor, all at once mortified and elated. 

Banishing the tumult of feelings rising within, I ripped open the box and beheld a dress so perfectly exquisite I merely stared at it for almost two whole minutes, rendered speechless.

It was a knee-length white dress with a halter neckline, and the back of it laced up like a corset with cream-coloured ribbons. Its torso hugged my form like a second skin, pronouncing my figure, while the skirt flared out and swirled around my knees like a cotton fog.

Not surprisingly, it was a perfect fit.

I donned it and stood in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom door for a long while, turning this way ans that to look at it. The cream and white set off the various tones in my dark hair and pale skin; I'd never known that white was a flattering colour on me.

"Well would ya look at that..." I muttered as I surveyed myself. "This dress makes it look like I actually have an ass..." Most dresses tended to enfold my buttocks and make me look like I had an abnormally thin rear end, but this one actually seemed to accent what little curvature I possessed. Needless to say, I was pleased.

I stood in front of that mirror for a long while, then exited the bathroom and picked up the wide satin ribbon that had secured the dress box. Returning to the bathroom mirror, I tied my hair back into a ponytail. The layers I had that had not grown out fell from their fixed positions to frame my face pleasingly, and the white in the dress brought out the colour of the ribbon. The effect was just what my outfit needed.

As I turned to leave the bathroom, I suddenly stopped in my tracks.

The back of the dress scooped low down my back, and, for the most part, the dragon tattoo was completely visible in all of its shimmering glory.

I was not yet used to the tattoo, and having it so exposed in public would be humiliating for me.

"I'll just have to take it up with Vergil..." I whispered to my mirror image. The look in my green eyes was one of something nearing fright.

I left the bathroom for the last time, then fished a pair of white sandals out of my suitcase. I slipped them on a left the room, feeling all at once sexy, exposed, and terrified.

As I descended the stairs, I caught sight of Vergil waiting patiently for me at their foot.

His cobalt eyes lit up in what appeared to be delight as I neared him.

"You look lovely." He said as I reached him, voice husky. His eyes glittered with a mix of pride and possessiveness I found more than a little... dare I say it... exciting.

Banishing the thought, I replied with a blush: "Well, it _is_ a lovely dress."

I then tried to breeze past him towards the front door, but I felt a large masculine hand suddenly ensnare my wrist. My eyes opened wide as he gently pulled me back to him, eyes solemn and overflowing with untold and unreadable emotion.

"Jira..." He said in a low, heart-wrenching voice. His fingers slowly meshed with mine as I stood entranced by those eyes of his, and as I stood transfixed his free hand slowly cupped my cheek in his palm. His thumb gently brushed the pale skin just beneath my eye, then over the crest of my cheekbones, and I gave an very slight, very involuntary shudder as the butterfly-wing caresses sent chills down my spine.

"Jira." He said again, this time with evenmore intense conviction. His eyes burned into mine as he spoke:

"I wasn't talking about the dress."

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME **

**Giggle... gigglesnort... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!** **I'm evil. **

**This chapter was so forced... but I promised somebody I'd update by Wednesday. I'M ONE MINUTE BEFORE DEADLINE!!!**

**I know this chapter was boring... but steam comes soon. You've been warned.**

**I know this chapter was another one of those scene-setters that no one really likes... but I had to use it. I was going to post it at the same time as their DATE CHAPTER (which comes next) but it would've been too long (that and the fact that I haven't written their date chapter yet kinda stopped me from doing that). BE PATIENT WITH ME!!!! STEAM AND DATE IS COMING!!!!**

**REVIEW REPLIES**

**DARK KUNOICHI:** _Thanks for your kind words. YOU ROCK!_

**STUDYHALLGUESSWHO**: _Do I really need ta guess? YOU FREEKEEN ROCK MY DEAR!!! I'm glad my ranting about it didn't bore you, and I'm even more glad you actually like READING it. PEACE OUT!!!_

**EMEY: **_For some reason my AFF account won't let me sign in or anything. It's weird. The site keeps kicking me out. Have you had any similar problems? Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

**J:**_I'm glad to see you checked out my Xanga! THANK YOU!!!! Email me about the beta thing if you are interested (I've got no takers)._

**ABSINTHX: **_You are too, too kind. Really. I just do this for fun (eh-heh-heh) but I do try really hard to work on character relationships. THANKS FOR REVIEWING!!!! I LURVE YOU!!!!_

**TARIELL:** _I'm glad to see a smile. Smile on!_

**MARLOES:** _I've never really thought about writing books, though I would indeed enjoy it. And my native language is still under lock and key. If you need to know or else you'll perish horribly, then email me. Otherwise, leave it lie. Thanks for reviewing!_

**DMC HARUKA**: _Yup, that was wooing her gently. Isn't Verge the SWEETEST?_

**AINO UTENA: **_Yay! Cookies! (Devours cookies)_

**PR505:**_Nope, no steam.. YET. SOON VERY SOON. MWA HA HA._

**NOWSHIN: **_Thanks! _

**DANTESDARKQUEEN**: _NOOOO!!! I MUST HAVE COOKIIIIEEES! Steam is coming soon... won't you give me a cookie for updating? Just ONE?! I NEED SUGAR TO WORK!!!_

**BLACKLADYCHARON:** _Yay for ocean! Thanks for reviewing!_

**SWIFTHUNTER:** _Gravity comes into play soon. I've got it all planned._

**DANTELEONHART**_Dante's role in the fic is under lock and key. I know when (or IF) he'll enter. Don't stress it, m'kay?_

**LAOCHRA:** _That was indeed perverted. Oh my gosh I laughed until the cows came home. Dear god. YOU RULE!!! NOW UPDATE YOUR FIC!!!!!_

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	35. Chapter 34: The Capability

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-Fiction by VirM._

Chapter 34:

"**The Capability"

* * *

**

I stood there a moment, caught in his gaze like a bird in the jaws of a cat, unable to move or breathe or think. It was only when Vergil broke the contact to offer me his arm that I was forcibly hurled back into reality. My blush could not be any deeper.

I fully expected Vergil to lead me to the front of the house and possibly to the limo, but instead he gently pulled me towards the back of the house, and, hence, the walkway to the beach.

"Vergil?" I asked as he opened the back veranda doors. "Where are we—?"

He turned and held a finger to his lips for a moment, shushing me. His eyes glittered with mirth as he took my arm once more.

"You'll see," he murmured, then led us outside.

* * *

It was nearing twilight. The crash of waves issuing from the nearby ocean and the hiss of wind through the dune grasses created a mellow, peaceful soundtrack that I was all too happy to listen to. The scent of the sea and the cool fingers of the breeze relaxed me, and I found my nervousness slowly ebbing away as we proceeded to... where ever it was we were going.

Vergil and I made out way down the path to the ocean slowly; silent, though not uncomfortable in the absence of conversation. The trail wound its way through tall sea grasses, meandering aimlessly. White wooden arches were set over the path at regular intervals, marking the way.

We rounded the last bend of the path after about a minute, at last coming into full view of the ocean. Vergil did not allow me the luxury of a pause in order to observe the striking sunset over the waves, but instead cut a sharp right at the end of the path. I did not pay any attention to where we were going from there; my eyes were fixated on the glittering sea.

I was jerked out of my reverie moments later when Vergil stopped walking. I tore my eyes away from the sunlit spectacle to give him a quizzical look.

"We're here," he said shortly, voice carrying slightly over the wind. The sun behind me lit up his face and hair, causing his features to glow in the evanescent light. His eyes had never been more blue, his features never more radiant; his beauty far outstripped the water's.

My eyes wandered over the contours of his face for a moment, but I did not meet his eyes. We stood for a moment in silence, looking at each other.

Then, without a word, he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating the dunes behind him. His platinum hair shifted gently at the nape of his neck, and his eyes flashed in the light of the dying sun a blue so intense I had to stop for a moment and simply revel in them.

It took me a minute, but eventually I was able to force the thoughts of those blue eyes away from the more immediate reaches of my mind and focus in on the sight behind him. My breath caught in my throat as I beheld what he had obviously spent hours preparing.

A large white gazebo, made of lacquered wood and constructed with gracefully flowing arches and spires, stood serenely amid the sand and plant life, glowing with candle light like a small, soft sun. A multitude of white candles had been melted onto the gazebo railing at uneven, dripping heights, glowing elegantly in the light of the dying sun. Small sections of wood were exposed at odd intervals, and the musky smelling wax bubbled and sluiced over itself as the candles were heated by the flame, dripping down to pool on the wooden platform beneath the rail. Their light cast gentle glow over everything, leaving nothing in the gazebo in shadow or darkness.

A table covered with a white cloth had been set up in the center of the gazebo, and on it a carafe of what looked to be champagne had been interred in a silver cooling bucket along with chips of smoking ice.

The table had been set with an elegant place setting for two, as well as platters of fruits and breads and pastries. Two wrought iron chairs with white cushions were placed on opposite sides of the table; their clawed feet rested on the bare wooden planks of the gazebo floor that had been polished to a high, lustrous sheen.

"I thought we would eat light," I heard Vergil say softly. I looked back up at him, eyes still wide from the shock of the elegant setting before us. His demeanor was solemn as our gazes met.

I nodded at his words, butterflies returning with a vengeance to flutter their whispering wings in the pit of my stomach. I was glad for his choice of menu; what with my nerves, I doubt if I could have stomached anything substantial.

No words were spoken as he led me up the two steps the gazebo was mounted upon; no words were spoken as he pulled out my chair for me and helped me into my seat. The silence was broken only after he had seated himself across from me.

"This is beautiful," I said with a smile. Vergil's eyes only glimmered in response.

"Really," I continued, put off by his silence. "It really is."

Vergil smiled slowly.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, voice low. "I wanted it to be perfect." His smile widened slightly, and then he asked: "Did I manage that?"

"Oh yeah," I nodded. "Perfection and then some." I shifted in my seat, looking around. "No wonder you were gone all day."

Vergil didn't answer. He merely rose from his chair and lifted the bottle of champagne from the silver bucket and poured himself a glass, then filled mine as well.

He handed my champagne flute to me after he finished pouring, and I laughed internally at seeing such a tiny, fragile glass being held so delicately between his large masculine fingers.

"Is this alcoholic?" I asked with mock surprise. Vergil nodded and said:

"It is, though only slightly."

"You've never let me drink before," I teased. "Why the sudden change?" Vergil did not answer, simply looked away and raised his glass to his lips. He did not drink, however.

I waited for an answer for a long moment, then upon seeing that I was most likely not going to get one, took a sip from my glass.

The light, bubbly drink flitted down my throat like a living thing, reminding me of edible butterflies. It had a lovely taste.

"It's good," I said as I put the flute down. Vergil chuckled at that.

"Only the best…" He trailed off, looking at me for a long moment. I blushed, and to cover it I helped myself to a bundle of grapes lying delicately on a silver platter. I gently squeezed one of the fruits off of the stem and popped it into my mouth. When I bit down it all but exploded, sending the sweet nectar of the grape washing throughout my mouth.

I chewed, swallowed, then had another. Vergil was still staring.

"We have a lot to talk about, Jira," he said quietly. I stuffed another grape into my mouth as I felt my blush burn brighter.

"L-like what?" I asked, staring down at my hands. I heard Vergil shift across from me.

"Tomorrow—is your birthday." His words were spoken quickly, rushed.

_Is he nervous?_ I asked myself, not wanting to believe it. _Vergil _never_gets nervous…_

"And?" I asked.

"Well…" he began. "You need to know what to expect."

"Start talking, then." I picked up my champagne flute and sipped, still refusing to meet his eyes.

This obviously annoyed him, as his next words were:

"Jira—look at me."

I accidentally took a large gulp of my drink. I spluttered slightly, the fizz wreaking havoc on my sinuses, and managed to choke out the words:

"That's—easier said than done, Verge."

"Jira, I'm serious." His tone was patient and it drove me nuts. My rebellious side stirred.

"So am I."

"Jira, don't be difficult—"

"You think I'm being DIFFICULT!?" I said loudly, finally looking at him. His eyes went from patronizing to concerned to shocked in an instant.

"Well—" he began. I cut him off.

"You're INTIMIDATING, Vergil!" I brought up my right elbow and slammed it down on the table, then pillowed my forehead in my palm. "It's just so hard to cope—"

I sighed in frustration and looked up at him again. His face was incredulous.

"Intimidating?" he asked. I bristled and was promptly struck dumb with sudden understanding.

"You really have no idea, do you?!" My jaw dropped. "You really have no idea that you--"

I shook my head, then laughed loudly. There was no humour in it.

"You're so perfect!" I said. "And that makes me feel inadequate, Vergil. Everyday, it's: 'What will I do to piss Vergil off today, hm?'"

I ran my hands violently through my hair, teeth grit.

"I just…" I began. "I want to please you— but I don't know how!" My voice began to rise steadily as I continued:

"THEN I remember that the only reason you even lower yourself to TALK to me is because some really sadistic, irony-loving god decided to MAKE you care for me!"

"And that's such a blow, Vergil—because I like YOU without having to be dictated to care about you, and—"

I stopped short at the last remark, face flushing. Vergil looked stunned.

_Dammit dammit DAMMIT—_I thought frantically—_PLEASE do not pick up on that,  
Vergil, PLEASE—_

"You… like me?" He asked. His cobalt eyes held a mix of confusion, question—and elation. Inside, I crumpled. I was exposed at last.

"No use denying it now," I muttered. I leaned my head back and stared at the gazebo's support beams. I took a deep breath, then rocked my head forward again to look directly at him.

"Yeah, Verge, I like you--" I said, voice clear and steady. "—and so what?"

He sat perfectly still for a long moment, the only movement coming from the breeze toying with his white hair.

"You've just--" He took a breath, then said: "You've never said it before." I bristled again.

"You think it's EASY for me to say?" I hissed. "At least YOU'VE got an excuse to admit any kind of feeling for me; YOU'VE got that blood tie to back you up--" I stopped suddenly, seeing the sudden change that had come over Vergil.

His eyes were no longer confused; they were brimming with controlled rage.

"Are you suggesting--" His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it chilled me to the bone. "—that I have it EASY? That MY role in this relationship is any less stressful than YOURS?"

Vergil rose from his chair, palms pressed flat against the table-top.

"Let me tell you something, Jira— everyday I worry." His eyes narrowed slightly and his fists clenched. "I worry about alienating you, about being too cold—which by nature I am—but I worry most of all—" He took a deep, shuddering breath, then looked me straight in the eye. "—about LOSING you. If I say the wrong thing I am afraid you'll hate me—and then leave. I couldn't take that, Jira. This blood tie, it—"

"There you go again!" I growled, throwing my hands up into the air. "Blaming it all on the tie! Why can't you just admit to whatever it is you're feeling and NOT use the tie as an excuse!?"

Suddenly, the rage left Vergil's eyes. He slowly lowered himself back into his seat, fists gradually unclenching. His eyes held a look of realization.

"This…" he began. His voice grew in strength as he spoke. "This is my fault. I've never explained to you how the blood tie fully works, have I?"

The question had been asked more of Vergil than of me, so I did not answer.

"The blood tie…" he began again. "The tie simply bound me to you – it did NOT dictate what kind of feelings I would harbor for you."

"I don't understand," I said slowly. "When you first told me about it, you said that it—"

"Forget what I said then." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I was trying to simplify it; soften the blow of the great unknown. Forgive me, Jira, for I did not realize what my over-simplification would do."

"I still don't understand." I said sullenly.

"Of course you don't—but you will, later." He brought his elbows up, placed them on the table and laced his fingers together. "For now, however, let me explain…"

"The blood tie was _not_ created to produce 'soul mates.' It was _not _mean to produce a pair of emotionally bound beings. Forgive me, Jira, for I was not clear on this earlier. If I had been, we would both be much happier people."

He took a deep breath and continued:

"To understand the blood tie's nature, you must understand the nature of a demon: Demons do not 'like'—nor do they love. Loving something—to put one person over yourself, to be completely devoted to them in every way, to truly LOVE something—that is something only humans, for whatever reason, are capable of."

Vergil's eyes intensified as he spoke, then calmed.

"But back to demons: the only emotions demons are capable of are hate, bloodlust, anger, despair, or fear and the like. Some higher-level demons are capable of feeling respect—even devotion—but none can feel something so selfless as love."

He hesitated a moment, took a drink of his champagne, then spoke again:

"This creates… problems, however. A being who can never _like_ something—I will even go so far as to say _lust_ after something, though there are several species of higher demons who ARE capable— will never stay with one individual long enough to reproduce."

"That is the root of it all: reproduction. The blood tie was a means for one demon to become attached to another and bear children. If it did not exist, the demons would die out. That is it. That is all. Demons cannot feel emotion: therefore, the blood tie has NOTHING to do with emotion!"

"Can't you understand that, Jira?!" Vergil said loudly, hands slamming down onto the table. The dishes rattled and clinked against one another. "My feelings for you are NOT dictated! They are just as hard for me to bear as yours are for you!" His eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight, almost feral in their ferocity.

I sat still for many long moments after Vergil quieted, trying to take it all in. Then a question came to mind.

"Vergil?" I asked. He looked at me evenly and gestured for me to continue.

"You said that demons can't love--" I said slowly. "—but in the book you wrote—the one about your farther, Sparda—you said that he fell in love with a human woman." I took a deep breath, then asked: "If demons can't love, then how did Sparda…?" I trailed off. Vergil sighed.

"My father…" he breathed. "Was a demon unlike any other. He had powers unknown to the rest of the demonic race; powers that had never been seen before." Vergil's eyes were troubled, yet clear.

"One of those was the ability to love."

I digested this, embarrassed as I felt something akin to relief wash over me. I then asked worriedly:

"And you're able to too, right?" I asked, concern colouring my tone. I blushed, embarrassed to find myself hanging on his answer, then finished with: "Since you're a half-human…"

"Half-demon," Vergil corrected me sharply. I winced at his tone. "Being 'half-human' indicates being less than a man."

We sat in silence for a moment. Vergil took a sip of his champagne.

"You never answered my question." I whispered, staring down at the hands clenched in my lap. I heard the slight 'clink' of a glass being set down, a sigh, and then:

"Yes, Jira… I am capable of love."

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME**

**I'll bet you are all rallying to have me lynched for giving you so long a wait for this chapter, huh?**

**Not to make excuses or anything (Goes on and makes excuses anyway) but I am so stupid! I deleted the completed chapter and had to REWRITE it from scratch. I just felt so hopeless; it was so HARD to write! I really liked the first draft a lot, so suffice to say I am not too fond of this one. But it got the job done, thats all I can say.**

**And I realize now that the way the Blood Tie works has gotten… muddled. **

**Just know that not all info has been revealed to Jira yet. What Vergil was trying to get across by that little rant of his was that the Blood Tie does NOT have anything to do with feeling. That was the root of it all. His feelings for Jira, whatever they may be, are his own. Vergil was trying to make a POINT, not explain everything in full detail. He left out some stuff. Paraphrased some more. Changed it to suit his needs. Tricky bastard (growl). Tricky tricky tricky…**

**_ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!_** Did you notice anything BETTER about this chapter? Well, if you did, it's because Vir M. now has a BETA!!!!!!! She is the oh-so-lovely "J," who does not have an account on FFnet. But please, shower her with praises and cookies in your reviews! She totally rocks; she's patient and kind and tolerates my inconsistent chapter production and frayed logic. What more could I ask for?

**_ANOTHER ANNOUNCEMENT:_** I have received permission from **Dr. Merlin **to create a **Mary Sue Litmus Test **for the **DMC fandom**. Don't know what that is? Take a peek at my profile and click on the link!

I am going to need the help of some of you DMC OC authors though.

I NEED NEED NEED you guys to help me by letting me run your OCs through the test! I NEED you to lend me them for a time! You and your OCs are NEEDED by VirM.! PLEASE HELP VIRM. OUT!!!!

If you are interested in beta-testing my test using one of your Devil May Cry original characters, please contact me via** EMAIL. EMAIL. EMAIL.** Not private message or review, but **EMAIL.** I might contact several of you myself, PERSONALLY, (I doubt I'll ever get around to it though since I'm so damn lazy)but if I do not and you still wish to help me out by letting me run your OC through the system I would be SO grateful.

Remember: **EMAIL ME** for the** DETAILS!!!!**

And the results are completely unrefined. Dont spork me to death if your OC gets a score of "Ultra-Sue." I havent perfected the scoring system yet (which is where you come in).

Without your help, the test will never see the light of day! VIRM. WANTS YOU! strikes the "Uncle Sam" pose Anyway, **EMAIL** me if youd like to be a beta tester of my

**ADevil May Cry Specific Mary Sue Litmus Test!**

I hope to hear from you!

_**REVIEW REPLIES!!!!!!!!**_

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**Lady Crystine Rayne: **Ooh ooh ooh SOUFFLE! I LOVE soufflés! Please make me a virtual soufflé. Food is pretty much my god, not gonna lie. Thank God I've got a fast metabolism (I guess I'm kind of lucky) or else I'd be HUGE!

**Cloud Dragon:** Thanks so much… again!

**Demona: **I now am a religious user of the phrase "Great googamooga." Thank you.

**Star.Crossed.Vigilante.: **Yeah, I am kinda tired of it. You ARE blunt.

**Dante Leonhart:** Thanks (wink)

**Emey:** I like the dress too. I'd never wear it personally cuz I'm really insecure about wearing stuff any less revealing than a t-shirt. Ah well. Thanks for the review!

**Norientra:** EEEEEEEE the dates not over yet! See ya next chapter!

**Dark Kunoichi:** There, I've updated. Woot! Eeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

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**Black Lady Charon:** I hope those pins and needles didn't get TOO uncomfortable; I know the wait for this chapter was rather lengthy. Sorry about that!

**DantesDarkQueen: **COOKIES!!!!!! (lunges at box and is forcefully repelled by sheer propriety)

**DevilMayCryHaruka: **Not THIS one, I'm afraid... but a little bit next chapter and more the one after is my current plan. Stick around to see how it plays out!

**CancerStick:** I'll bet you do. Woot!

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIRM.**


	36. Chapter 35: Dive

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-Fiction by Vir M._

Chapter 35:

**"Dive"**

* * *

Vergil's eyes were intense. His open expression of mixed longing and desire for recognition and acceptance made me want to do nothing more than pull him into an embrace. I felt my heart rate quiet slightly as the moment stretched long, and then I averted my eyes.

I picked another grape up off of my plate but did not put it in my mouth. Instead, I rolled it back and forth between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, watching the way the light green peel flexed beneath the pads of my fingers.

Vergil's words had brought my mind a semblance of peace, no matter how small. I had not wanted to admit it before, but the things he had told me… _mattered_ somehow, in a way I was at a perfect loss to explain, both to him and to myself. I felt myself relax slightly as I mulled over his revelation, strangely complacent with all I had learned.

I sat still for a minute more, fixated on the fruit rotating beneath my hand, and then began to concentrate on getting a little bit of food in me, namely more grapes and several pastries.

I stole a glance up at Vergil from time to time as I ate, and each time was rewarded by a returning stare. After awhile I felt Vergil's eyes leave me, and heard the clink of glasses and silverware as he himself settled down to a meal. I sipped my champagne over the course of the meal, and once Vergil wordlessly rose and refilled it for me. Eventually, after we both had quietly eaten our fill, we simply sat together in silence.

The moments of stillness stretched into minutes, and I noticed that the candles had begun to burn low. The lack of conversation was not awkward; rather, it was companionable and warm. The occasional stolen glance fortified the point.

I gazed down at my hands as they lay motionless in my lap, thinking. After a while my eyes wandered to the pounding surf outside the gazebo.

"Hey Vergil?" I asked absently, still staring. I heard him shift in his seat.

"Yes, Jira?" His words came out in a whispering caress, carrying over the murmur of the ocean. I tore my gaze away from the sea to look at him.

His eyes were solemn, face unreadable.

"Would you mind if I went and walked along the beach for a little while?" I asked.

"Do you want company, or…?" He trailed off. I smiled apologetically.

"I'd like to be alone—for a little while, anyway," I added hastily as I saw his face fall.

"Do you plan on going in the water?" Vergil's lips pursed. "I don't want you to catch cold."

I rolled my eyes and stood, pushing myself away from the table. I rolled my eyes and stood, pushing myself away from the table. "I won't be long." I thought on that a moment, and then said: "Gimme… oh, I dunno, twenty minutes?" I offered Vergil another smile, which he returned. I then proceeded to make my way down to the waterfront.

Small grains of sand blew into my open-toed shoes, grinding grittily beneath my heel. About ten feet from the water's edge, I kicked off the shoes entirely, pleased at the feel of the coarse beads. It was strangely pleasant despite its rough texture.

I stopped just short of the fringe of the waves, sand damp beneath my toes, and looked out to the sea.

The water was black beneath the starlight, broken up occasionally by a fleck of white foam cresting a wave. The sky it was juxtaposed against was similarly blackened. I was only able to tell where sea ended and sky began by the appearance of stars on the horizon.

_It's massive,_ I thought as I stared out at the waves. Wind toyed with my hair, causing the end of my ponytail to brush sinuously against the back of my neck. _It must go on forever…_

I took a deep breath of salty air, feeling slightly cleansed, and then looked back out at the dark water.

Forever… I thought, feeling something in my chest constrict. I placed a hand over the left side of my chest; thumb idly stroking the dragon's head I could just barely glimpse out of the corner of my eye. _I'm going to live forever…_

_--with Vergil._

My eyes opened wide as the thought surfaced out of nowhere, and the implications that came with it finally came into full view.

It was in that moment that it hit me: I was going to live forever. The sheer vastness of the sea had finally put the full scope of eternity into perspective; with the thought of that beautiful man's name it had all come crashing down.

I took a deep breath again, tasting salt.

"Eternity… and the sea are a lot alike." I laughed softly to myself, and then sobered. "You never really realize just how big—how all-encompassing it is until it's shoved right under your nose."

I looked up at the sky, locating the crescent moon hiding behind a wreath of cloud. "Am I sure… that I really want to commit to this? And for so _long_?"

I dropped my hand to my side again and slowly entwined my fingers into the folds on my skirt. Looking up at the moon, I began to think:

_I've tasted so little of life, and here I am about to tie myself down to a man I barely know._

I slowly lowered my gaze from the sky and looked back at the sea. The dull roar of the waves pounding against the sand was soothing.

_Am I really willing to trade myself away like this? _I thought. As I stood there, wind lightly playing with my dress and hair, I finally asked myself the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind since the first moment I had come to believe in the blood tie:

_Is Vergil the man I want to spend forever with?_

The question pealed through my heart like a bell, and with it came the answer; loud, clear and instantaneous:

_What I know about Vergil pales in comparison to what I DON'T know... _

With that thought I took a step forward; then another, and then another.

_And yet…_

_and yet…_

_I feel like I know him._

_I feel like I'm home._

I took another step, hesitated, and then plunged ahead.

_And if eternity can be figuratively likened to the sea…_

Waves washed over the tops of my naked feet and ankles as I took my first step into the ocean; I felt all at once invigorated and electrified.

"—_then I want to dive right in."

* * *

_

**AUTHOR TIME:**

**So ANYWAY… Yeah. Wow. It's been a while since I've updated. The story got booted off of the first page for once! Crazy…**

**Anyway, for those of you who don't look at my Xanga (which serves as my fan fiction announcement board) I'd just like to inform the lot of you that I have been sick.**

**Very sick.**

**I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say that I am in a lot of pain right now. Please be patient, as updates are very difficult to work at present. I'm trying though, so please bear with me! (Plus, spring break is drawing nigh so I'll have a lot of spare time on my hands, which is good new for all of you…)**

**About this chapter… I realize that it wasn't exactly the most eventful in the world, nor was it the longest. It's another one of those scene-setting chapters we all 'love' (sarcasm) so much. Do not be discouraged though! I plan on posting the next chapter very, very shortly after this one.**

**Oh! I would also like to thank the "People Who Love Jira," A.K.A. the people who have either added this story to either their favourites and/or alert lists. (The list is combined without repeats, so the actual list is substantially larger…) This is in alphabetical order.**

Aimee Bert

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Black Eye Candy11412

Black Lady Charon

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Chrome

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Emey

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Isis976

Lady Crystine Rayne

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Laochra

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Metal Muffin

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Nowshin

Oh-Insanidad

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Punkrocker505

Sugar Crazed Angel

Sushy22

Swift hunter

Sword Of Light Blade Of Darkness

Tariell

Tbtaichou

WildgirlXYZ3

X Crazy Corduroy X

**I'd ALSO like to thank the "People Who Love ME," or the people who have added me to their author watch or favourite author lists (also in ABC order, and also in a combined and non-repeat list):**

Aloysius 316

Black Eye Candy11412

Blue Sun 91

Cancer Stick

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Emey

Kisara Crystal

Lady Crystine Rayne

Lady Urashima

Metal Muffin

Norientra

Nowshin

Oh Desolation

Oh Holy Otaku 9

Oh-Insanidad

Punkrocker505

Sage-505

Scrunchy

Shroud Of Shadows

Tariell

Vyne Night

X Crazy Corduroy X

zHellas

**I think I'm going to forego the review replies for the moment, so here's a collective shout out: WOOT!!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS AND REVIEWS—I AM NOT WORTHY!!!!!**

**Another matter of business: I STILL NEED BETA TESTERS FOR MY "DMC MARY SUE LITMUS TEST!" Please, please, PLEASE contact me via email for more information! It's "virmver" (at) gmail (dot) com, okay? PLEASE PARTICIPATE!!!**

**Also, I am going to start a "By Blood Connected" FAQ ("frequently asked questions") forum. I know it seems really conceited to start a forum for yourself and all, but SERIOUSLY guys, I get asked the same questions over and over again! I think that it's about time I clear up some of the confusion. The forum will be hosted here on this site, and once I make it I will post a link to it in my profile. Keep an eye out!**

_**DEVIL MAY CRY (C CAPCOM**_

_**BY BLOOD CONNECTED (C VIR M.**_


	37. Chapter 36: Breathless

By Blood Connected

_A Fan-fiction by Vir M._

Chapter 36:

**"Breathless"**

* * *

The initial shock of water splashing against my shins was cold, but not numbing. Rather, it cleared my head; sharpened my senses so until I was utterly awake and completely aware. 

I could feel the pull of the surf as it gently tried to tug me out to sea, the way the wet sand ground and shifted beneath my bare feet; the way the wind delicately picked up the hem of my white dress and made it ripple and swirl around my knees.

The moonlight reflected on the water, causing whorls of angular silver to dart and slash the crests of the waves, seriating their edges with molten pigment. Wind sighed breathily, with an almost human ambience.

It was beautiful.

I pressed forward until the waves crested against my knees and I was forced to hold my dress above the spray to avoid the water. The cloth felt cool against my palm; gliding gently between my pliant fingers. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my open mouth, gathering up my dress, tasting the salt air on my tongue and in my throat. It was exhilarating.

"Jira?"

I opened my eyes and turned my head, looking back at the beach.

Vergil, in perfect, beautiful synchronization with the majesty of my surroundings, had appeared behind me, holding my sandals in one hand. He stood away from the damp sand at the waters edge, keeping his boots dry. I could see the footprints I had made; his own prints, larger than mine and with different shape, overlapped them, and I saw that his stride was almost twice the length of my own.

"Is this," I asked, "H20 friendly?" I dangled the edge of my skirt between my forefinger and thumb. "It's getting a little wet." Indeed, it was hard to keep out of the rushing waves.

Vergil nodded at me, eyes calm. "It is."

"Good," I replied, turning back to the ocean, letting go of the skirt. The hem fell to precisely the top of the waves, and billowed out while resting upon the undulating surface of the water.

I inhaled again, this time through my nose. Vergil shifted behind me.

"It is getting late, Jira."

His voice carried on the wind. I looked back at him again.

"But Verge…" I mock-whined, "it's so pretty out here."

He cleared his throat, not looking at me. "You can swim tomorrow, if you wish."

"But Vergil…" I tried again. He pinned me with a look.

"No 'buts'."

"Five more minutes?" I pleaded, this time for real. His cobalt eyes danced in a way I recognized to be expressing amusement.

"You would stay out all night if you could." It was not a question.

"Mm-hmm." I smiled slightly and looked back at the sea and sky.

"You're enraptured," I heard Vergil say. I 'mm-hmmed' again. Vergil continued: "You wouldn't care if you stayed out here all night and caught pneumonia, as long as you got what you wanted."

My head whipped back around, and I offered him a frown. He smiled at me, and my heart fluttered, frown evaporating.

Vergil then closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly, as if regarding the moon above. He was, more than ever, perfection made flesh, dreams made real, beauty incarnated into not-quite-human form.

Vergil's lips parted slightly, then curved into another of his heart-wrenching smiles. Then he spoke:

"My precious, precocious little idiot."

The words came out honey sweet; powerful. His tone overflowed with emotion I could not fathom, and with intentions I could never name. The way he said it sent a chill down my spine and a spear through my heart, in utter contrast to the indignation that flooded my mind at the actual meaning of the words.

I deigned to not say anything, however. It would have come out harsh, and tonight of all nights was not the one to alienate him. Instead, I remained silent and thought:

_So I'm 'his' little idiot, huh? Still, as awkward as that sounds, it's probably the most intimate thing Vergil has ever said to me._ I felt my cheeks flush slightly, eyes still fixated on Vergil.

His eyes opened almost lazily, then fell on me, and I wondered how he saw me. And in what light? Was I still a child in his eyes, standing before him barefoot and soaked below the knees? Or was I an adult now that I had come of age? What did he expect of me today, tomorrow, and every day after?

Vergil's head leaned forward slowly, and then he turned away from me. I did not understand the ache in my chest until I realized that I was mourning the loss of the sight of his face.

His voice floated to my ears once more: "I will be waiting for you at the table. Join me when you are ready."

Vergil stood for a moment with his back to me, my shoes in hand, and I had an idea.

Not a smart one, mind you, but the word 'idiot' was still fresh in my mind. Now, it was time for payback.

Before Vergil took a single step forward, I rushed forward, bent from the waist, and scooped up a handful of salt water. Then I flung it, hard, at Vergil's retreating form, at the same time throwing as much of my magic gravitational momentum into the water-bomb as I could.

The aim flew true, and I was rewarded. The blast had hit Vergil squarely in the back of the neck.

He froze where he stood, body tense. His shoulders hunched slightly; expressing surprise and wariness.

Then he turned to me: his look was dangerous, but betrayed by the sparkle of engagement in his blue eyes.

"Is that," he said slowly, voice a low rumble, "a challenge?" Evidence of a slow, lazy smile hovered at the corners of his eyes and lips.

The words sent chills down my spine again, as did the look. I had to suppress a grin, as well as a shudder that may or may not have been caused by fear or glee.

Instead, I opted for a look of bemused innocence.

"Maybe," I said brightly, covering my triumph with a doe-eyed look. I then turned my back on him and hooked my hands behind my back, trying to act nonchalant.

It was then I learned that turning your back on Vergil was never a prudent decision.

I did not expect him to retaliate, so when I felt the shock of stinging cold splash squarely between my shoulder blades I could not help but yelp loudly. I spun around and glared at Vergil.

He was stooped low from the waist, one hand poised above the small waves breaking along the sand bank. His digits were dripping with saltwater, and my shoes had been abandoned farther up the beach. His featured were alight, and his eyes were glittering with mirth.

"Now we're even," he said, voice low and throaty.

I snorted and folded my arms. "Not really. I've won."

Vergil straightened, eyes confused.

"See?" I said. I immediately turned and retreated about eight feet into the water. The waves reached mid-thigh, and my skirt was soaked. "You can't get me, but I sure as hell can get you with my gravity power." I grinned at him, and he scowled.

Then, unexpectedly, he turned and began to walk away from me.

"Sore loser…" I muttered, turning back to the water. My heart sank, but then I snuck a glance over my shoulder.

Vergil walked a little ways away, about to where he had left my shoes; then dropped down on one knee and began to fiddle the laces of his right boot.

"What are you—" I began, eyes wide. He responded by yanking off the boot entirely, doing the same to the next, and rising. He then stripped off his shirt.

I promptly forgot to think. After all, Vergil was half-undressed. Who wouldn't have been a bit… preoccupied?

Before I could really take the sight of him in, however, he cleared the distance between us in the space of a second, barreling forward almost too fast for me to follow.

He tackled me; we went down in a high splash of water and foam.

The water closed over my head, and I only barely remembered to close my gaping jaw in order to not suck in a lungful of brackish wave.

I came up spluttering; blinking furiously and coughing. The water reached halfway up my chest.

Once the water cleared from my eyes, I looked to my left: Vergil was kneeling in the water next to me, water reaching his waist. He was smiling smugly, cobalt eyes dancing.

I got a good look at his torso as my coughs subsided. He looked like a marble statue: hard, strong, imposing, perfect, but the heat I could feel radiating off of his sea-slicked skin shattered the illusion to slivers and pieces.

I realized I was staring, then looked quickly up at Vergil. His lips pulled into a grin; he had caught me looking. I covered it by crossly sending a plume of water splashing up into his face as my face flushed.

"What was that for?" I asked, mock-anger coloring my tone. He took no time in splashing me back.

Then the all-out war began. It was World War III with water.

We were (almost) evenly matched: I had my use of compulsion via my gravitational manipulation, and Vergil had his demonic speed, strength, intelligence, grasp of physics, and—oh, who am I kidding? I was getting creamed.

We fought for what seemed like hours. Eventually my muted cries of crossness faded into giggles, then laughter, as our fight got worse and worse.

At one point, I got close enough to Vergil latch onto one of his wrists. With my other hand, I threw water at him from point-blank range.

It didn't work as planned.

Vergil shifted and dodged the spray, then grabbed my free hand with his own. He pulled me forward via that hand so I was crushed against his (very bare, very wet) chest, then pushed.

We fell to the ground, rolling and fighting and grappling like puppies in the shallows. I was at a clear disadvantage, but I didn't really care: it was fun, this playful physical banter. My laughter and Vergil's colored the night.

I tried to dunk him: it didn't work. Instead, I wound up halfway straddling him.

"Oops," I muttered, blushing furiously. I shifted and tried to roll off of him, but Vergil had a firm grasp of my wrists (he had been winning, it seemed) and wouldn't let me. He sat up, water pooling around his thighs, and pulled me forward so that my arms were wound tightly around his waist; my face pressed against his chest. One of his arms slipped around my shoulders; the other around my waist. Then he laid back—pulling me with him—so that we were lying together on the dampened sand.

If he could have seen my face, he would have laughed: I was crimson. My shoulders were tense, but I soon relaxed as Vergil's hand slowly caressed the skin of my upper arm until the apprehension drained away.

My right ear was pressed to his chest, and I could hear the steady beating of his heart beneath his pale, marble-esque skin, as well as the sound of air being drawn into his lungs. I could feel the heat of him pressed to my cheek and body, keeping me warm despite the chill of the sea.

I loved it; every moment of it.

It was scary how easily he had gotten me to relax. Very scary. As I realized that, however, the tension returned, tightening my muscles.

Vergil felt it, seeing as how the hand touching me stilled. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice a tad bit sharper than expected.

I unwound an arm from around his waist, then braced myself on his chest. He protested wordlessly, reaching to grab my wrists again, but did not make much out of it once he saw that I wasn't actually going anywhere.

I opened my mouth to reply, then forgot what I was going to say. I frowned down at him, and his beautiful features looked troubled as he saw my expression.

"What's wrong?" he reiterated. I shook my head, signaling for silence, searching for the source of my disquiet.

His face was the same: heart throbbing and addictive. His eyes were the same blue I adored, but there was something off about the way he looked.

Then I noticed.

Vergil's hair had fallen out of its usual style and hung forward into his face. The strands framed his features pleasingly, but for some reason… I did not, could not, like it.

In fact, I hated it. It made him look like a completely different person.

Impatiently, I lifted my free hand and ran my fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. It felt like damp silk beneath my fingers, and even after I had returned it to its former, glorious style I continued to run my fingers through it, reveling in it.

Vergil's eyes had stayed fastened to my features, but now they drifted halfway shut so he could regard me from beneath his long lashes.

I had never really noticed those until now. They were full, a lot like his lips—

My eyes shifted to stare at Vergil's sensual mouth. My fingers gently drifted down from his hairline to trail lightly over his cheeks, nose, and finally his lips.

My index finger touched his bottom lip for a long moment, sliding over it from one end to another. Then it was joined by the rest of my digits. They trailed downward to caress his chin, then his throat. Finally, I rested my palm against his chest and closed my eyes, bowing my head so that it rested on the back of my hand.

Vergil shifted beneath me, then stilled. I snuck a glance up at him: his eyes were open, looking at me.

"Jira," he said. Nothing more; just my name.

"Vergil," I said. Nothing more; just his name.

Vergil's arm, the one wound around my hips, released me and took my hand, the one pressed to his chest, into his own. He sat up, holding me, then pulled my arm over his shoulder so that it was wound around the back of his neck. Then he released my hand.

Acting on some instinct, I wound the fingers of that hand into his pushed-back hair, closing my eyes. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent, the scent even the seawater coating his marble skin could not mask: musky yet clean, fresh, sweet.

We sat there for a long moment, holding each other. Then I felt a slight pressure on the underside of my chin.

I let Vergil's hand guide me, tilting my chin up so that we were face to face. Strangely, no butterflies fluttered in my gut. I was calm, collected, and composed. This was right. No other words can convey it better than that.

This was right.

I opened my eyes, looking up at him. His stare was calm as well, and mirrored how I felt.

Vergil leaned forward, then lightly pressed his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes. I felt his lips travel over me, brushing feather-light kisses on my nose, cheeks, and eyelids. Then he paused.

I opened my eyes, blue met green in a rush, and Vergil kissed me.

The kiss was tender, sweet: a mere brush of lip on lip that sent a shiver washing over me and a bolt of electricity rocketing through my veins. Vergil's lips were gentle, unlike what I had expected. I had expected a marauding—instead, I was being laid to waste by _this, _a mere caress.

Despite it being a kiss almost bare of contact, a fire smoldered behind it unlike anything I had ever expected. Passion was there in Vergil's careful lips, reigned in by god-knew-what and sheer will power. When he broke away from me, I almost sobbed. I felt myself aching for another kiss, felt my head spinning with sudden, unadulterated _need_. My composure had been shattered, and I began to tremble.

Vergil leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed, and brushed a strand of loose wet hair behind my ear. His fingers were almost, but not quite, steady, though compared to me he was as solid as a boulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice husky. "I should not have done that."

I couldn't speak.

His eyes opened—and his look was tortured.

"I'm so sorry, Jira," he said in a whisper. "I should have asked you first, I should have—"

"No."

I did not realize I had spoken until Vergil stopped talking. I drew in a trembling breath.

"Vergil, I—" I began. I stopped, struggling for words, but found none. I looked at him imploringly, attempting to convey emotion in my eyes. "Vergil…"

His own blue eyes were pained. I felt my heart melt.

"Vergil…" I whispered, pleading. He stared at me, realized what I wanted, then swallowed.

And kissed me again.

I met his lips eagerly, moving my mouth against his in an almost hungry, carnal way. He responded in kind, dominating me, and I submitted: a voluntary captive.

A breathy moan escaped my parted lips as Vergil broke our kiss a second time, then moved his lips down the column of my throat, scraping his teeth over heated skin. His hands clutched at me, possessive and strong and gentle, burning, and I held onto him in turn, running my hands restlessly over his skin and hair, lost to the sensation and emotion saturating every breath, motion, move.

Eventually, the moment of fire tapered and I was unable to respond; Vergil leaned back into the water again, holding my limp form against his strong body. His breathing was ragged; heart beats slightly erratic, though of the two of us it was I who was the wreck. I could not move or think as we lay there in the shallow water, simply _being_.

I was left breathless by it all, by the feelings suffusing both my mind and body.

The kiss—_our _kiss—had meant much more than any physical gesture could have meant. It meant more than any other gesture could have possibly meant.

It was—terrifying, erotic, meaningful, gratifying—and it changed everything.

Nothing would be same again.

I looked forward to it.

* * *

**

* * *

AUTHOR TIME **

**17 pages long, with over 3000 words. A chapter with events to remember, as well as pivotal plot points.**

**I'd better get some reviews out of this (glare) Ha ha I joke. Did I mention that this fic just recently gained over 10000 hits? 10k. The big 10 000. Thank you all SO much for your support.**

**Praise the almighty J for editing this mess. SHOWER HER WITH ADORATION AND GIFTS!!! WORSHIP AT HER FEET!!! (ahem) moving on...**

**Anyway, I'm sorry, but in the interest of getting this chapter out as fast as humanly possible, I will forego review replies at this time. They WILL be back next chapter, however (so no, don't wet yourselves; this is not the end). Instead, I would like to thank all of my reviewers collectively (starting with the most recent):**

**RoXian, Kami-sama, OneLastCigarette, MetalMuffin(thanks for the OC lend!), Norientra, ShroudOfShadows, PunkRocker505, Anna, Dark-Kunoichi, Laochra, DantesDarkQueen, Angelus2040, Emey, CancerStick, AbsinthX, Marloes, and LadyCrystineRayne. YOU GUYS ALL FUCKING ROCK!!!! Sorry if I missed any of you guys---just know that I love you all to pieces. I mean it. NO, NOT LITERALLY. I'm not THAT mean...**

**And I know that Jira is a bit more.. docile than usual, but she is simply getting swept away by all of this, so… Yeah. She'll be back, bringing all hell with her, soon enough.**

**Anyway, GIVE ME COOKIES, and TELL ME HOW YOU MUCH YOU HATE ME FOR THIS CHAPTER(but do NOT lynch me!)!!!!! Cheerio!**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIR M.**


	38. Chapter 37: The Prisoner & The Guard

NOTE, added April 15, 2008: I am now open as a beta reader, thanks to FFnet's new beta feature. Fun.

A few of my more observant readers may have noticed that three chapters—the ones concerning Jira's acquisition of her ensorcelled arm guards—are missing. Yes, I have deleted them. The act was intentional, as they were never supposed to be a part of this fan fiction in the first place. They were meant to be the opening chapters of "By Blood Connected"'s sequel, "Sentient," but luckily for you I jumped the gun and posted them early. Now you know how Jira acquired them, and won't read a certain part of the epilogue and go: "Huh?"

Which brings me to this: this is BBC's last chapter. The Epilogue. Before you read it, however, please re-read BBC's very first chapter, the prologue. The epilogue will make more sense if you do.

Be sure to read my note at the end of this chapter, as well. But I'm stalling. Please enjoy the last chapter of BBC.

* * *

By Blood Connected

A Fan-Fiction by Vir M.

Epilogue:

"The Prisoner & The Guard"

The monitor glowed in the dim room, bathing the space pale blue. A light, round and red, blinked on and off as a camera connected to it recorded movement, staining the blue room purple in regular intervals.

Credo, oblivious to this, snored quietly, chin resting on his chest. He'd not been getting much sleep lately, and found the security monitor room a good place to sit, not to mention think. Credo had not meant to fall asleep this night, however, but it wasn't as if the girl on the security screen was doing anything interesting, so he'd had no qualms about letting himself lapse out of wakefulness.

He was not, however, entirely oblivious, for when the red light stopped blinking he snapped awake. Leaning forward in his leather chair, he stared intently at the screen and at the girl it displayed.

She wasn't doing much, as always. A leather-bound book whose pages had once been blank (though they were now covered back-and-front with spidery script) lay open in front of her; she had a pen poised thoughtfully over the last few pages. She did not move, and the red light stayed dim.

Credo watched, interested. She'd been writing for days now, pausing only to eat and, occasionally, when she got too tired, nap. She had never once paused in her writing, never once lapsed in her concentration. But now she looked lost, her child's face drawn and uncertain. This hesitation wasn't like her.

Credo noticed that she was nearing the end of the book. There were only a few pages left.

The red light began to blink again as she put the pen down and stared at the page. Slowly, very slowly, she rifled through the book, eyes fixed on her work. Her chest rose and fell in even breaths, and her hair—so short and uneven after what she'd done to it the first day of her captivity—brushed the tips of her cheekbones. With impatient fingers she smoothed the strands away.

She closed the book with contemplative hands and stared at it. Was that wonder on her face, or fear? Resignation? Doubt? Credo couldn't tell, but he knew something was happening in the girl's room. Something… significant, though you wouldn't have been able to tell by merely glancing at her quiet home. The large bed, the lofty ceiling, the elaborate dresser—all lay covered with a fine film of dust; only the bed and desk she sat at had been touched.

She'd been there for ten days.

Credo leaned forward in his seat as the girl—young woman, really, though her figure and face weren't exactly evocative of maturity—unhurriedly extended one pale finger and stroked her book's plain leather cover. Then a fever took her. Her eyes blazed and her hand shot out; the red light blinked again; she took up the pen, threw open the book to the first page—

—and stopped.

Dumfounded, she stared at the blank page.

Credo frowned at the anticlimactic resolution, but the lines soon melted from his brow as the young woman arched forward, put pen to page, and wrote something about a third of the way down the page. It was a single word, a short one, possibly only three letters or so long. Then, beneath that, she wrote another, longer word, and beneath that one, the longest word of all. The process of writing those three words took her the better half of five minutes, but her penmanship sped up as she scribbled something else hurriedly beneath all three.

Credo narrowed his eyes. Why had those three words been so difficult to write? Better yet, what were they?

She stared at the words for a moment more, then turned the page. The next three or so were blank; she had left herself a few before writing the bulk of the book. With aching slowness, she began to laboriously pen more words in spiky chicken-scratch.

It took her a long time to write another half-page of text—a half hour, perhaps? Credo didn't keep time; he was too busy watching her. Her face was telling: emotions flashed across it like images on a television screen, and their range of feeling confused him. She looked sad, angry, calm—all at once. Credo wondered, and not for the first time, what she was writing. He'd been wondering about it for days.

Ten, in fact.

The emotions faded when she finally put her pen away. Sighing, she gave the words one last, lingering look, and closed the book for good. Her fingers hovered over the cover, and her eyes were bleak. A small white hand went to her eyes as her lips twisted. Her shoulders shook. Credo realized she was crying.

He tore his attention away, so he did not see the tears pouring from her eyes or the set of her anguished mouth. Nor did he see her get up, tears still flowing, and collapse on her bed. He looked back only after she covered herself with the fine linen sheets and turned away from the security camera to face the wall.

Credo watched her until the covers stopped trembling from the force of her sobs. Then he waited another hour, just to be sure. When he was at last certain she had fallen asleep, he stole out of the security room and down the hall, where he stopped before a set of high wooden doors.

He stared at them for a moment, face set and eyes fixed on the huge lock securing them closed, then pulled a key from his pocket and fitted it to the catch, feeling the tumblers and bolts glide smoothly out of the way as he rotated the shaft.

All was quiet in the gloomy room. She had forgotten to turn off the desk lamp, so Credo did it himself. The knob clicked, and he held his breath. Had she heard, and woken up? Credo relaxed when she did not move for some time, then turned his attention to the book.

The leather felt cool beneath his hands. Quietly, so as not to wake the girl, he plucked the tome off the desk and tucked it securely in his jacket. Then he left as quietly as he had come, the book riding like a weight over his heart.

When he got back to the control room, he sat down heavily at his desk and removed the book from its hiding place. The red light by the girl's monitor was dim; she did not move or toss in her sleep, despite her obviously heavy heart. He wondered what she dreamt of, or if she even dreamed at all.

Credo's fingers passed slowly over the leather cover, idly contemplating the book's contents. Would it contain a condemnation of the Order? He thought so. In fact, he hoped so. They—he and the Order—were keeping her prisoner, after all. She deserved a right to rant and rave at the injustice of being locked in an obscure tower_—_

Credo began to feel familiar feelings of regret well up, but he banished them. It was not cruel what he was doing, he insisted to himself, but right and just. This was for her own good. The monster had already corrupted her flesh—that wretched mark on her back was proof enough of that—but the Order still had a chance to save her soul.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Credo flipped the book open to the title page and learned that the three words the girl had been hard-pressed to pen were actually a title.

"By Blood Connected," they read, and beneath that: "the story of Jira Lancaster."

Credo frowned at the enigmatic title. He turned the page. The last, hurried part she had written before going to bed ran like a prologue:

"It began in my junior year of high school," she'd written, then gone on to correct herself. "No, wait, that statement is incorrect…"

Credo read onward, at times struggling through the author's chaotic scrawl, feeling conflicting sensations rise within him as he read about her first meeting with the monster who had corrupted her poor body and mind.

Vergil.

He did not seem evil in the narrative, though he was annoyingly mysterious. He treated Jira alternately like a younger sister, then like a friend as time progressed. Credo knew that the demon's soul was nothing but darkness, and yet… here he was in an environment full of humans, coexisting with them in peace.

It made no sense.

Why would Vergil—the son of Sparda with a malignant soul—be teaching at a boarding school?

Ten days ago, when Credo had ordered Jira's recovery from the clutches of the rogue half demon, he had assumed that Vergil was using Jira and that the affair had begun only recently; by Jira's account, however, she had known Vergil for well over a year. And even more disturbingly, he had come to her, not the other way around. He had sought her out, an anonymous teenager with nothing to offer but curses and headaches, of his own obscure volition!

Credo read quickly, up until the point of Jira's inexplicable fear-born collapse in the middle of her school hallway. Something about the incident nagged at Credo; he was missing a bigger picture, of that he was sure. So he put the book down and thought on it, hard. A mere minute of racking his brains made everything click into place.

He'd read about it before; demons mating based on an instinct that caused them to gravitate towards an individual member of their species. But he'd never seen it in action.

Until now.

The alleged emotion sharing, Vergil's sudden appearance, Jira's title—they all made sense. "By Blood Connected?" A blood tie? Was that even possible between different species?

"Blasphemous," Credo whispered to the dim control room. The red light was still dark, the girl's monitor silent. "Foul. Perverted." He passed a hand over his face, mouth frozen in a grimace of equal parts horror and frustration.

A few scant chapters later, Credo's suspicions were confirmed when Vergil explained to Jira the presence of the infamous Blood Tie. It nearly killed him to read about the tender way Vergil broke it to her, and the feeling of despair was made even worse when Jira accepted the Tie without remorse or noteworthy hesitation.

Later, after dozens more pages, Credo's teeth clenched harder when Jira gave herself up to the monster Merhusame, surrendered her body to the debilitating side effects of an anti-aging spell, and experienced pain of unrivaled intensity… and all for that wretched half demon, Vergil.

Still, Credo could not deny his more clinical side's interest in the process. Demon blood and an object of power, saturated with the souls of two intertwined beings, used to bind the livelihood of one person's flesh to another's? That was almost as interesting as the prospects of angelic fusion with—

Credo stopped himself from thinking about that. Though Nero, after the incident, had spared his life and allowed the newly reformed Credo to take leadership of the Order of the Sword, Credo had not been able to stop thinking about—and secretly mourning over—his loss of power when his angelic side was forcibly exorcised by Nero's possessed arm.

Credo, tired of the manuscript and of where it was leading his thoughts, set the book down on his lap and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Though the story had been interesting, some parts of it seemed… inconsequential to the whole. Questions were posed, problems established, but answers and solutions withheld (how Jira had acquired the demonic bracers on her forearms and near-mastery of the gravitational abilities that had given his cadets so much trouble when they caught her had, regrettably, not been covered by the text).

Noticing that the book was not over, however—far from it, in fact—Credo wearily forced himself to pick it up again. The constant reminders of Vergil's physical and emotional appeal were grating on his nerves.

Credo's reading did not last long. He had to throw the book away from him in disgust less than an hour later when he read of Jira's last recorded moments alongside her demonic partner. The dress. The beach. The kiss. It was enough to make Credo's hands clench with uncontrollable abandon; he had to consciously check himself to keep his straining fingers from punching the arm of his chair. It was revolting, the connection they had! Unnatural and wrong! Any and all reservations Credo had had about keeping Jira prisoner evaporated the moment the book ended.

But… one thing had been made clear by the narrative. Vergil was not bloodthirsty. Evil, yes, undoubtedly, his actions with the girl were certainly impure, but the devil was not excessively vicious (though Credo had noticed several moments of tension that could have escalated into violence, had Vergil not reined in at the last second for his partner's sake).

Still, evil was evil. I made the right choice, Credo thought.

Credo skimmed the rest of that last chapter, and thought it to be the end until he saw words bleeding through the final leaf of paper from the other side. Jira had used a low-grade pen, it seemed, and as Credo turned the page he noticed that the narrative had changed in style. It did not continue the beach scene, nor did it break for the next chapter (the girl had a habit on naming the chapters before beginning them, as if she were writing a novel).

Instead, it was addressed to Credo.

He was certain his heart stopped for a moment when he saw the words "Are you reading, Credo?" He drew in a breath and released it slowly, dragging the exhalation long as his eyes lingered over the words, then continued down the page.

_Are you reading, Credo?_ it ran. _I hope you are. I wrote this for you. Did you enjoy it?_

_Why did I even ask that? If I know you, you thought it was a chore to read, and I'm pretty sure I do know you —at least, as well as I could know someone over the course of ten days. Less, really, because half the time I didn't talk to you, nor you to me. Those first days, though, the ones I spent in a holding cell—those taught me a lot. About you, about the Order—everything. Especially about why you chose to take me from Vergil._

_I hate the fact that you took me away, and I won't deny that I find myself wanting to hate you, too. But I can't. Though I hate your opinions, your hardheadedness, your unwavering surety in something based on nothing but speculation and prejudice—I can't hate you as a person. Why? Because all you want is what's best for me, even if we disagree on what that exactly is, and I respect you for it. You've treated me kindly, and for that, I thank you._

_But I can't stay here._

_Credo, I know you want me to never go back to him—to Vergil. I know you'd rather me stay here forever and join the Order as a reformed soul, but I just can't! I have to go back to him! He's as much a part of me as breathing is, and without him here I feel… lost. That, and alone. Now, knowing you, you'd say that the Savior—the demon Sparda, the very father_

_—_she had viciously underlined the word, for emphasis_—_

_—__of the man you stole me from—could fill the gap in my heart if only I'd accept him, but it's just not that simple. I need Vergil. And that's 'Need' with a capital 'N'._

_There. I said it. I need him. What makes me mad is that I never even got to tell him that. It takes a week and a half of separation for me to sort out my feelings for him. I guess being around him every day made me take him for granted. _

_He's a good person, Credo, though I know you can't see it. You're blind to the fact that he's kind, empathetic, understanding—he's just like you and me, Credo! Get past his history; forget his demon side! He's as human as I am!_

Credo felt a pang of remorse at that last part. How long ago had it been that his younger sister, Kyrie, had said as much about Nero, a man who Credo trusted implicitly?

_That's why I wrote my story for you,_ Jira continued. _From it, I hope you'll finally see things from my perspective—Vergil, like you, only wants what's best for me, and he knows better than anyone that the best thing in this world for me is him. _

_But that's not the point. The point, Credo, is that if Vergil needs me just as much as I need him—and I know he does; I've felt it myself—he will come for me. And I've seen him fight before. Not many times, but enough to know that even unarmed he's deadly. _

_He __will__ come. _

_And when he gets here, nothing you can do will stop him from getting to me. _

It took a long time for him to move, but when he did he was trembling. He didn't know how to feel. Rage, sadness, indignation... those were the emotions he could name, but there were many more he had no label for.

One in particular, however, he could identify, and it disturbed him. After seeing first hand how Jira's will had collapsed and how trusting she'd become towards that vile half-demon of hers, he felt an odd surge of protectiveness for the wayward child. He, like Jira, had once been seduced by the promise of power and eternal life, and understood her feelings, false as they were.

Just thinking about the book made his skin crawl. Jira had been so obviously led astray, so utterly fooled, so completely mislead by Vergil's act of kindness and compassion. He had brainwashed her into believing he was 'human'—the only thing human about him was his greed! Greed for companionship, trust, the girl… it was despicable. Her little ploy to persuade Credo to see Vergil's 'good side' had backfired—by reading the narrative, Credo had only become more sure in his conviction to keep the two blood-bound partners separated.

Credo's teeth ground together as his fingers tightened around the thick book. "I'll never let her go back to that beast," he vowed, then spat, "Never!"

Thousands of miles away, however, another man made a similar vow. His, however, was one of unification, not separation, and was made with an even deeper degree of indemnity. He would not fail. He would not let himself fail.

Neither, however, would Credo.

Time alone would see the victory of the triumphant vow, whichever it would end up being. The truth would out, but only after fate had run its course.

All Jira, the captive, had to do was wait.

* * *

To be continued in SENTIENT.

* * *

AUTHOR'S PARTING SHOT:

I am so sorry for leaving you like this; coming out of so long an absence with the words "this is the end" and nary a "hello" for your trouble. But the fic has dragged on long enough, and it should have ended long ago. I just abandoned my plan and found myself stuck. But I will not make any more excuses. Leaving you was irresponsible and wrong, and I am sorry.

But now you know the truth. By Blood Connected was not simply a story: it was a plea for release, and for freedom. Hopefully, now, you will see that there was more to the story than met the eye upon first reading. I reread the fic, myself, before penning this last chapter. Any and all questions you had about the contents of the epilogue (save for ones concerning Credo's presence and Jira's trip to Fortuna, which will be answered in Sentient) can be found in previous chapters. Still, I don't expect any of you to truly remember the nuances of Jira's story, since they happened so long ago. Forgive me, again.

Because I know someone will ask: I had plans to include Credo in this story since I knew of his existence, prior to the release of the Devil May Cry 4. I know he dies. But I've taken a little creative license and brought him back.

I don't want to drag this on much longer. Thank you, my readers, for supporting me, and special thanks go out to my patient, kind, supportive, and willing-to-put-up-with-my-bullshit beta, J. Without her, this last chapter would not be here. Likely, I would have never updated again.

I bid you all adieu, and well wishes for all of my reviewers, favoritiers, and alerters. You, like J, helped motivate me enough to get off my lazy butt and finish this. Thanks. You all mean the world. Can I leave ya'll with a cheesy little poem I learned at summer camp a few years ago? It's for good journeys and strong hearts. Here goes…

_Take bread for the journey and strength for the fight_

_Comfort to sleep through the night _

_Wisdom to choose at the fork of the road_

_And a heart that knows the way home. _

My home is at my keyboard, writing stories. I promise to never leave you hanging for months again. It didn't feel right, not being at 'home.' I don't plan on straying too far away again anytime soon.

And hopefully, you're as glad to have me back as I am to be here.

Until we meet again:

Vir M.

DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM

BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIR M.


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